To Love a Loathed Enemy
by Xephia
Summary: Harry finds himself captive in Malfoy Manor, Draco needs to befriend Harry in order to release his father from prison, and the Wizarding World are coming up with their own shocking explanations for Harry's disappearance. Harry/Draco. Slash. Post War.
1. Prologue

**AN:** This is a slash fic - as in the romantic focus is on two male characters. If this isn't your cup of tea please don't bother reviewing. On the other hand, if you _do _enjoy the story I'd really appreciate a review. Even a couple of words could make my day - after all, reviews are the only payment fanfiction author's recieve from their work.

Thanks for the interest, and I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Hundreds of people were gathered around a great, vast lake, yet not a single sound could be heard. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry loomed behind them in the growing darkness, and was as quiet and still as the crowd. The undisturbed silence was respectful. No one dared to break it. More than fifty candles floated on the lakes surface, and in each was engraved a name, deep into the white wax. At first glance would give the impression of ordinary candles, but after closer examination one would realize that that they were not. With nothing to hold them up in the water, they bobbed weightlessly… illuminating the lake with their fiery glow. And from the flickering flames the heads of the deceased could be seen, their smiling faces and sightless eyes oblivious to the mourners on the bank.

Harry Potter watched the scene with mixed feelings. So mixed, in fact, that they were now indistinguishable. The reflections of the candlelight and the setting sun gave the impression that the lake was glowing, and Harry couldn't help but note the beauty of it. Suddenly, he caught sight of Lupin's eyes staring back at him from their fiery depths, and he turned away in time to watch as Professor McGonagall placed the last candle on the water.

The silence broke – not immediately, but gradually. Several people sniffed, a couple burst out in violent sobbing. Voices whispered and people began to shuffle about. Eventually it all picked up, and students began to point out faces that they recognized to their friends and family. Anecdotes were shared. Tears were shed.

To Harry's left, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger stood hand in hand.

"It's terrible," Hermione whispered, burying her face in Ron's chest. Her voice was shaky, but the tears had begun to dry on her face. Ron stroked her hair absently, and catching Harry's eye, gave him a watery smile, which Harry returned only reluctantly.

"Harry?" Ginny appeared between them. Her expression was sad, but her eyes remained dry. "I thought it was you. It's hard to tell though... everyone's a silhouette against the lake." Harry gave a slight nod.

"You know, they even lit candles for the Death Eaters," she said, pointing at an unnamed candle. "But unfortunately, there were a lot of bodies that couldn't be identified."

"Yeah," Harry said softly, not knowing exactly what to say. He and Ginny hadn't talked much in the past two days since Voldemort's attack. Harry had thought it was best to give the Weasley's a bit of space while they mourned for their son.

"We're leaving tomorrow morning," Ginny said quietly. "Back to the burrow. Mum says you're welcome to come."

"I don't want to intrude..." Harry replied honestly, thinking of Fred. The family would want time to their selves, to organize the funeral.

"Don't be silly. You're pretty much part of the family," said Ginny. "Besides, you have nowhere else to go."

Harry knew she was right, and nodded in agreement. "Yeah, thanks Ginny."

Ginny wondered back towards her parents, and Harry felt a pang of jealousy as he watched them together, but he was not unused to it. Wanting some time alone, he walked away from the masses of people, skirting the lake and losing himself in thought.

_Voldemort_'_s gone_, he told himself. But he no longer felt the ecstatic feeling of triumph. Instead, he felt... empty. What was going to happen now? The only goal he had had in mind for his future had been to become an Auror. Could he even do that without full qualifications? But more importantly, where was he going to live? He couldn't just move in to Weasley's. Stay a few nights, perhaps, but he'd have to find somewhere else eventually. He had even considered returning to Grimmauld Place, but had decided against it. He was probably still a target for Death Eaters wanting to avenge their dead lord, and even if they couldn't get in, the place was still home to too many bad memories.

Harry's mind wandered further in the troubles that had been circulating recently in mind. What was going to happen to Hogwarts? The last two days everyone had been involved in the clean up. Some parts of the castle had been completely torn apart from the battle, but shop owners and villagers from Hogsmeade had come up to help. The castle had nearly returned to its previous condition. The bodies that had all been laid in the Great Hall had been taken home. Some still lay unclaimed in the chamber.

Further still, Harry's mind wandered. Would Ginny be returning to Hogwarts next year? Would they still be able to see each other? Maybe, when he got a new place of his own, she'd come and live with him... but, he knew that this was wishful thinking. There was near to no doubt that she would be returning to school next year. And even if she didn't, he had no idea how she felt about him at this point. It had been months since they broke up. In that time she could have found someone else.

Lost in his thoughts and imaginative scenarios about his future life, he didn't notice that he was half way around the lake, nor that he was approaching a figure seated on the bank, until he stood just a few meters away. The figure was hidden by the shadow of a tree, and all Harry could make out were the whites of his eyes as they turned away from the candles and rested on Harry. Instinctively, Harry reached for his wand, but seconds later the figure looked away, obviously uninterested.

Harry turned to leave, when the figure spoke.

"Don't... don't go..." Harry recognized the voice immediately, but the shy uncertainness didn't match up with the face he had in mind at all.

Harry stopped. "Er... Malfoy?"

He took a few steps closer until he could see the figure clearly. Malfoy sat hunched under the tree, hugging his legs to his chest. Naturally suspicious, Harry stopped a few feet short, and examined him. His white-blond hair hung messily in his eyes; it obviously hadn't been cut in a while. His school robes lay abandoned at the base of the beach tree, and he wore tidy muggle clothes. He hadn't removed his tie. Harry couldn't help but deplore how much weight he had lost. His bones jutted out, and his skin was whiter than ever. He looked terrible.

"Malfoy?" Harry repeated. He gripped his wand tightly. He was curious, yes, but not to the point of stupidity.

Malfoy was obviously struggling with his words. He opened and closed his mouth several times, and fumbled with his own wand in his fingers. He didn't look at Harry, but continued to watch the lake.

"I... I wanted to say... er," said Malfoy. "Thank you." He spat the last two words out quickly and loudly, before pausing. When Harry didn't say anything, he continued. "For saving me the other day."

"No problem," said Harry, taken aback.

"If it wasn't for you, I'd be dead. And I'm fairly sure it was you the second time, with the Death Eater, too?" asked Malfoy, looking up at Harry.  
Harry nodded slightly. Malfoy did not look away, and instead regarded him with obvious interest. Harry couldn't identify the emotion in the blond boys eyes, but it was unsettling. Harry shifted under his gaze, until eventually Malfoy looked away.

A moment passed, and Malfoy made no move to say anything else, but as Harry turned to go, he started to speak again.

"Look. There's Crabbe." His voice had changed; it was quieter and shook slightly as he pointed at the nearest floating candle. A round, bulky face looked back of them from the flame, its mouth slightly ajar, its blinking eyes unaware of them. It was unmistakably Crabbe's candle.

Suddenly, and catching Harry by surprise, Malfoy was crying. His shoulders shook and he buried his face in his knees. Unsure of what to do, Harry watched in silence. This was the second time he had seen Malfoy crying, Harry recalled. The former time, because he was being blackmailed by Voldemort. And now… what was it? With Voldemort gone, why was Malfoy so unhappy? Harry failed to believe that it was because his old master was dead; even the Malfoys had been thrilled by Voldemort's downfall. And Crabbe had proved to Draco how little he had valued their friendship just before his death, so surely Malfoy wasn't crying over him?

Harry debated over whether to leave or not. What had Malfoy done to deserve his pity? But he couldn't. He didn't understand why, but he couldn't just walk away from him while he was in such a state.

So instead, and far against his better judgment, Harry approached Malfoy and (for the first time voluntarily in his life) sat down next to him. Malfoy didn't seem to notice, or didn't seem to care. After a moment or two, Harry raised his hand, as though about to touch Malfoys shoulder, but thought better of it. Sighing, he took up the same position as Malfoy and looked out at the candles in the water.

Something in Harry's chest tightened as he saw the unforgettable face of Fred Weasley, just a few meters from where they sat. The carved name in the candle had been gone over with red wax, courtesy of Ginny, so that it would stand out better. The face grinned at him from its abnormally large flame.

Guilt racked through Harry's body painfully, but not for the first time, and he tried to push it away. He'd spent the last two days feeling overwhelmingly guilty for every death that had occurred during the battle against the Death Eaters. There was no way that deaths could have been prevented, he had told himself, uncertainly.

Malfoy had begun to quiet down, and was now hiccuping softly, his head still buried in his arms. Harry had no idea why he had remained with Malfoy during this sudden outburst of emotion. He turned to look at him. Malfoys blond hair was splayed out over his shoulders, catching the last few rays of the setting sun. He was shivering slightly, and Harry wasn't surprised. The warmth of the day was leaving with the sun as it began to fade behind the Forbidden Forest.

"Malfoy," said Harry, quietly, uncertainly. "Why don't you put your robes back on? It's getting cold."

Malfoy sniffed and raised his head. "Why do you care, Potter? What have I ever done for you?" he said sulkily.

"Absolutely nothing," said Harry under his breath, but out loud he said, "you're obviously upset." Quickly realizing that he had stupidly stated the obvious, he added, "I thought there might be something I could do to help..."

This was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Malfoy snapped back, "I don't need your pity, Potter."

There was a beat of silence.

"Sorry," said Malfoy.

"What?" said Harry, stunned.

"I'm sorry. For everything. Everything I've said and done over the last few years." His pale cheeks colored slightly, and he avoided Harry's gaze, obviously embarrassed.

Harry gaped at him. He had expected this just as much as he had expected Voldemort to 'come quietly'.

He almost laughed, but instead he said, "Er...thanks. I'm sorry too." Though he wasn't sure if he meant it or not.

There was another long pause where neither of them spoke, Malfoy had taken to lake gazing again.

"So many people died," Malfoy whispered. "So many people that I knew." The skin around his knuckles went, if possible, whiter as he clenched his fist tight around his wand. "I never expected anything like this to happen." Angry tears welled up in his eyes again, and he looked away. "But you have no idea what it's like, working for him. You have no idea what it's like to have him threaten the lives of your family… to use that against you."

Harry was tempted to point out that of course he hadn't, because Voldemort had taken care of his family long before Harry was old enough to consciously take a stand against Voldemort, but refrained himself.

"He used to torture me, when he thought my father needed persuading… and he would torture my mother when I was the one that needed persuasion. It was horrible. He was horrible." His body shook along with his voice. "My father was always terrified that he'd come back. He taught us dark arts and the ways of the Death Eaters, for our own protection. So that we could survive if he did come back. But he was sometimes cruel." He shuddered. "You have no idea what it's like to have to live to expectations of a father like that. No idea at all." A tear rolled down his ivory skin. Harry watched it until it came to rest of Malfoy's pale pink lip.

"I didn't know," said Harry quietly.

"I'm glad it's over."

"Me too," said Harry, and Malfoy smiled.

Harry relaxed a bit. He had never really thought past the Malfoy with the sneering looks and rude come backs. In fact, He had never once taken a minute to consider what Malfoy's life had been like. Of course, that was still no excuse, Harry reminded himself, but for the first time in his life Harry pitied Malfoy. And not only that, Harry realized with dawning comprehension, but a kind of compassion. Malfoy had never looked so small and helpless. So incredibly overcome by sadness. Harry had to suppress a sudden urge to wrap his arms around him and comfort him as though he were a child.

He was as shocked at this thought as he imagined Malfoy would have been if he had actually done it, and the shock must have showed, because Malfoy gave him a questioning look.

"Ah, nothing," said Harry, an embarrassed blush creeping up on his cheeks.

Malfoy nodded, but continued to watch Harry, as though fascinated by him. His eyes scanned Harry's face slowly, before locking onto Harry's own eyes again.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" said Harry, who was beginning to feel uncomfortable under Malfoy's gaze, for the second time that evening, with a motion towards the candles on the lake.

"Yeah, it is," breathed Malfoy, following Harry's gaze. He relaxed the tension in his muscles, and sighed, drying his eyes.

The two boys, one Slytherin and one Gryfindor, sat side by side that night until the very last candle had melted down, and the moon was all that was reflected in the Hogwarts lake.


	2. Narcissa's Letter

**Chapter 2 **

Morning shone through the open curtains of Ron's bedroom, illuminating Harry as he lay on a stretcher on the floor, and causing him to stir. Harry blinked and sat up with a groan. He'd had a troubled sleep the previous night, constantly waking up due to horrible dreams. Unfortunately, try as he might, he just couldn't remember what the contents of these dreams where. He ran a hand through his messy black hair and reached for his glasses with a yawn. On the upside, it was good to be back at the burrow. He just wished he had closed the curtains before going to sleep.

Ron was sleeping on his bed, snoring slightly with his mouth open. Harry had recently begun to wonder how long it would be before Hermione moved in to sleep with Ron. They had been at The Burrow for little over a week, and the couple would often disappear for hours at a time in the evenings. They were rarely rarely seen alone; Ron would even sit with Hermione while she read (though she did a lot less of it these days) and sometimes Harry would even catch him picking up a book himself.

If they did decide to sleep in Ron's room, where would Harry sleep then?

Harry smiled. Perhaps he could take Hermione's place and sleep in Ginny's room? But the grin vanished as he reminded himself that he wasn't planning on staying at the Weasley's for much longer. After all, he was not a child anymore. He could hardly expect Mrs Weasley to continue looking after him.

He walked over to the window. Outside he could see George, Ginny and Percy tossing a Quaffle between them. George had stayed for Fred's funeral which had been held two days after the memorial. Of all the Weasly's, the loss of his twin seemed to have upset him most. It was nice to see him enjoying himself again. Harry wondered if he would continue with the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. The shop hadn't re-opened since the battle.

As he watched, Ginny blocked every single goal that George tried to make, while Percy was having enough trouble just staying on his broomstick. Harry had never seen Percy fly, and thought he could do with a few tips. Harry glanced over at the old broomstick Ron had given him, and felt an immediate longing to be up in the air. But did he really want to play with Ginny again? He didn't want to spend too much time with her, and get his hopes up, just to be told that she had found someone new. Or worse, that she just simply didn't fancy him any more.

He sighed and made up his mind. He was living with Ginny. He couldn't avoid her forever. He picked up the broomstick and hurried out to the garden, smiling as kicked off into the air, and raced to join the three Weasley's.

**---**

"You should have seen Harry; he was incredible!" said Ginny as she strode into the living room two hours later, her face flushed and knees dirty. "I've never seen anyone make a goal from so far away before!"

Harry couldn't help the smile on his face as he trailed in after her."That save you made while dodging George's bludger was... incredible"

"I wouldn't have made it if you hadn't warned me though," said Ginny.

"What about me?" Ron mumbled. He had joined the game half way through as keeper, playing with George and Percy against Harry and Ginny.

Harry and Ginny looked at him.

"Oh...yeah. You did great too, Ron," said Harry.

"Don't talk rubbish, he was terrible!" Ginny snorted. "You kept missing the Quaffle because you were concentrating too much on your girlfriend," she added, rolling her eyes. Hermione, of course, had watched the game from the sideline.

Ron went red. "The teams weren't fair! You should have had Percy, and we could have had Harry..."

The two continued their argument up until announced lunch, and even then, they glared at each other over the dining table. Harry, however, couldn't help but feel elated. The past week he and Ginny had been careful around each other. Polite, but not friendly like they had once been. But after winning the game of Quidditch, Ginny had allowed him to give her an airborne hug, and they had laughed together. It reminded Harry of the days they had spent together back at Hogwarts. Maybe things could go back to how they used to be?

"Harry dear, I've left today's mail in Ron's bedroom." Mrs Weasley smiled as she served him some ham. Harry groaned inwardly. Every morning since Voldemort's downfall he had received dozens of fan mail from witches and wizards all over the world, congratulating him and asking for autographs. "It's only polite to write back," Mrs Weasley had said. And so Harry had spent most of his afternoons shut up in Ron's bedroom writing.

"You'd think they'd have lost interest by now," Ron muttered.

"Oh, it'll be a long time before everyone looses interest. After all, people are still talking about Dumbledore's defeat of Grindlewald," said Ginny. "But I'm sure Harry's fan girl community will die down soon enough."

Harry felt his heart leap. Was Ginny jealous? Unfortunately, there had been no hint of jealousy in her voice, and she didn't peruse the subject.

An hour later Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny sat together up in Ron's room, laughing over a particularly obsessive letter from a 'single mother of two.'

"'...If only I was 20 years younger...'" Ginny quoted, bursting into a fit of giggles. "Oh, this is going to be fun." And she began scribbling a reply with a nasty grin on her face.

Ron snorted. "Here's another marriage proposal: 19 years old. Great cook, or so she says." He took out another piece of parchment from the envelope. "She's included a photo, and hey, she's not half bad!" said Ron, surprised. He chucked the photo and letter at Harry. Harry glanced up at Ginny, who was still writing a reply for the 'single mother', and was suddenly struck with an idea. If he could make her jealous, then he'd know for sure that she still wanted him.

Harry smiled down at the photo. "She's gorgeous!" he said loudly. "It's such a shame she lives so far away."

The scratching of Ginny's quill paused momentarily, but then without raising her head, she continued writing. A minute later, she stopped again, and Harry glanced up at her quickly.

"Harry, I'm out of ink, could you pass that bottle on the shelf?" she asked, her voice indifferent.

"Thanks," she said as Harry passed it too her gloomily. Perhaps she truly had stopped caring?

Another hour passed, and there was still at least two dozen letters to write. Ginny stood up and stretched.

"Well I'm off to the the village before it gets dark."

"It's only 3pm; it's not getting dark for hours!" exclaimed Ron.

"It's an hour's walk from here. Not that you'd know. You're too lazy to walk anywhere," said Ginny on her way to the door.

"What do you want in the village anyway?" Ron yelled after her, but she was already gone.

"Ever since we got back she's been vanishing off to that stupid Muggle village, and she never tells anyone why," Ron muttered bitterly.

"No Ron, she just doesn't tell _you_ why," said Hermione with a knowing smile.

"What do you know?" Ron demanded eagerly.

"It's a secret," said Hermione, and Harry instantly felt a need to know what that secret was, but it was too late to grab his cloak and hurry after her. _Besides,_ he thought, casting a gloomy look towards the stack of letters, _I can't expect Ron and Hermione to write replies to all these for me._

He took another letter from the pile, and dipping his quill in the ink, began to write.

Over the next few days Harry noticed with relief that the amount of fan mail had begun to slowly decrease. He was still reluctant to answer them though, and even Ron had become bored of laughing at them. However, this particular morning a letter caught his eye. He thought he recognized the handwriting, written in green ink, but he couldn't place it. He took it from the stack, and opened it.

_Dear Mr. Potter_

_I am writing to thank you. Not only did you defeat the Dark Lord, who was terrorizing the lives of my family and I, but you saved the life of my son. For this I will be forever grateful._

_I would like to request that you join us for dinner one evening in our manor. The address in enclosed. My husband isn't particularly fond of the idea, but I'd also like to offer you a room for as long as you require it. Draco tells us that you lived with Muggles that you were not very fond of while at Hogwarts, and that you may not wish to return to them. We would be honored to have you come and stay with us._

_Please consider it._

_Narcissa Malfoy._

Harry gaped at the parchment in his hands, and it took his brain several minutes to register what he was reading. Stay with the Malfoy's? The idea was absurd. It had to be from one of his school mates looking for a laugh. But Harry had to scratch that idea, because no one but Ron and Hermione knew that he had saved Malfoy from the Room of Hidden Things.

"She's got to be joking!" exclaimed Ron when Harry showed him the letter. "Who in their right mind would want to stay with them?" He laughed. "And whose this 'we'? I don't think Malfoy would be jumping for joy at the idea of having Harry Potter come and live with him." By Malfoy, Ron was referring, of course, to Draco Malfoy. Harry hadn't told him about his last encounter with the youngest Malfoy by the lake. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he felt like it was something that should be kept a secret.

Ron sniggered. "Looks like you should have left Malfoy to the fire."

"Ron!" Hermione had just walked in, and shot Ron an angry glare, before returning to Harry with a frown. "What on earth has Malfoy done?"

"Nothing," said Harry truthfully. He handed her the letter, and watched as she read it.

"Oh... well that's certainly nice of her," Hermione said slowly, but uncertainly.

"Nice!" Ron exploded, "She's a Death Eater! It's obviously a trap."

"I don't think so," said Harry, thinking back to the night at the lake. Though he wasn't sure if he and Malfoy would ever be best of friends, he knew Malfoy had been sincere about what he had said, and almost warm when he had said it.

"Oh come off it, Harry. Since when did the Malfoy's ever like you? Let alone want you to go and live with them."

"I have to agree with Ron. It is possible that they want revenge. After all..." Hermione trailed off.

Harry remained silent.

"Don't tell me you're actually considering going?" Ron stared at him.

"Course not," said Harry quickly, but he tucked the address into the pocket of his jeans anyway. He had no idea why he was keeping it, but he felt like he should, so he did.

That afternoon, Ginny announced that again, and, as usual, she would be heading off to the village. And, as usual, no one but Hermione seemed to know why. However, no one else seemed as interested as Harry, and Hermione had made it clear that she wasn't going to tell him.

Having already finished the tedious task of replying to the remainder of the letters, Harry waited until Ron was busy helping George de-gnome the garden, before announcing that he was going to take a short fly around the grounds. He then rushed off to grab his invisibility cloak. Ever since the Quidditch game, he had been paranoid that there was someone in the village that she was going to see. He knew it was wrong, going to spy on her, but he just had to know.

Ginny had been gone for nearly two hours, and Harry hoped she would still be in the village by the time he apparated.

The village was small, with only a couple of shops and cafés and a little shabby hotel around the town square. There was also a movie theater and a police station. There weren't many Muggles on the streets, Harry noticed as he emerged from an alley way. This should make it easier to find Ginny, Harry thought. Unfortunately, he didn't have the faintest idea where in the town she might be.

He decided to start by searching the main streets. Perhaps she'd be outside one of the cafés? Desperately, he hoped this to be true. If not, he had no idea where he might find her, and he certainly wasn't going to go peering into Muggle homes. He knew he should probably be under the invisibility cloak, but the sun was high and he didn't fancy the uncomfortable extra layer. He'd keep his eyes open and make sure he saw Ginny before she saw him.

Half an hour later Harry sat outside an ice cream parlor with a mint flavored ice cream, feeling defeated. He couldn't find her. And he had no idea where to look next. And what if he did? What would he say? What if there was someone in the village who she thought was worth visiting? Mrs. Weasley had mentioned that there were other Wizarding families in the area. Maybe she was with that someone, right now, at his house? Harry no longer felt like eating the remainder of his ice cream, and stood up to find a bin, when he finally caught sight of her.

Ginny had just rounded the corner of the street, hand-in-hand with a young man around Harry's age. For a second Harry just stood there. He couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it. He had been right. He knew he shouldn't be surprised, but he couldn't help it.

"That movie was amazing, Robin. Thanks so much for taking me." Ginny smiled up at her companion, and he grinned back. He was tall, probably near to Ron in height, with short, blond hair and blue eyes. Harry felt a sudden disliking towards him.

They were getting closer, and would surely notice Harry soon if he didn't move. He considered for a second using the invisibility cloak. Would any of the Muggles notice? But he suddenly decided that he wasn't going to hide; he was going to let Ginny see him. Let her know that he knew. And then... he had no idea how she'd react. Would she be sorry? Harry couldn't help but hope it, even if the chances were very small. The boy she was with now was truly very handsome.

"Have you seen any of the others in the series?" Robin asked Ginny as they approached. He had an accent which Harry couldn't place, but he thought it might possibly be Australian.

"Oh, no, I haven't. I don't actually go to the cinema very often," Ginny replied.

"I'll have to take you more often then," said Robin, making Ginny blush.

Jealousy writhed deep inside Harry, jealousy and anger and - even though Harry couldn't place it at first - fear and a sense of loss. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He was going to remain calm.

_Calm_, he told himself silently.

"Harry?" Ginny stopped walking and stared at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

"Hello, Ginny."

"But... what are you doing here?" She sounded surprised, and a little worried.

"I thought you might have liked some company," Harry lied, "but it seems I was mistaken." There was a lot more venom in his voice than he had intended, but he didn't care. He glared at her angrily. How could she do this? After all he'd been through. Surely she must know he still liked her! He was shaking with anger, and was sorely tempted to curse 'Robin' into a million and one pieces.

Ginny's eyes narrowed and her lips became seemingly thinner and tighter. Harry was instantly reminded of Professor McGonagall. She let go of Robin's hand and took a step towards Harry.

"You came to spy on me, didn't you!" she said, outraged. When Harry didn't reply, she marched up to him and slapped him hard across the face.

Harry was stunned. He'd never been slapped before. And he'd never expected the first person to do it to be Ginny. He grabbed her wrist as she made, perhaps, to do it again.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked weakly, tightening his grip as she tried to pull away.

"Let go of me, Harry!"

"Why didn't you? Don't you think I deserved to know?" said Harry.

Ginny struggled against his grip.

"Didn't you think for a second about how much something like this might hurt me?" Harry's voice was small and pleading.

Ginny stopped struggling.

"Let go of me Harry," she said slowly.

"Ginny, please-" said Harry, not letting her go.

"She said let go!"

WHAM! A fist collided with the side of Harry's head suddenly and with so much force that Harry was sent plummeting to the ground.

"Robin, don't!" He heard Ginny scream. His head was spinning from the impact, and as he tried to stand he nearly toppled over the table he had been sitting at minutes previously. The second he regained his vision and his position, he drew his wand and pointed it directly at Robin. He heard Ginny shout again, but ignored it.

Robin stared at him blankly for a moment or two, before raising an eyebrow.

"What, you think you're some wizard or warlock or something?" He laughed. "What's with the stick, _Harry_?" He looked highly amused, and Harry felt himself flush.

He was a Muggle! Harry swore inwardly. How could he have been so stupid!?

However, he didn't lower his wand.

"Harry!" Ginny squeaked. "Please, he's a-"

"Shut up, Ginny," Harry snarled.

"Wow, Ginny, this is your old boyfriend, right? I can see why you left him. He seems a bit loopy." Robin laughed and turned away from Harry. "Let's go get some dinner Ginny."

But Ginny didn't move.

"Harry..."

"Don't worry about me Ginny," Harry said coolly. "Your boyfriend's waiting." And he turned and walked away without another word.

An angry tear rolled down his face as he turned on the spot and vanished, unknowing that it would years before he ever saw Ginny again.


	3. Friends With Harry Potter?

Draco Malfoy stretched out on his bed and stared at his high, blank ceiling. Although it was not yet dark he could think of nothing to do to entertain himself before it was time for him to sleep. He groaned. He'd always hated the holidays back when he was a student at Hogwarts. Despite how he had so often boasted about his amazing manor, and how much he pitied those that had to stay at Hogwarts, he was just as often envious of the students who stayed behind. Now that he had finished school and that the Dark Lord was gone, what would he do? He had made no plans for the future, having always assumed that what his father had raised him to believe was true - that the Dark Lord would once again take over and rule. With He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named gone, along with the possibility of becoming a prestigious Death Eater, how on earth was he going to make his father proud?

He often wished that his father was more like his mother. Although his mother could be cold and harsh too, she showed compassion. She understood Draco better, possibly, than anyone else. His father on the other hand only saw in Draco what he wanted to see, and rest was ignored and possibly despised.

A soft knocking came from the other side of his large, ornate door, and he knew instantly that it was his mother. His father never knocked.

"Come in," he called in a bored, drawling voice. His mother entered, adorned in a long elegant black dress. Her golden blond hair flowing over her bare, and so very pale, shoulders. Draco had never dared ask his mother her age, but he was sure she had been very young when she had given birth to him, for there was barely a crease on her face despite the anxiety she often felt and expressed. He wondered occasionally why she had married his father, but again this was a taboo question best left unanswered.

"Hello, mother," he said, dully.

"Draco, my dear son," said Narcissa, "why lock yourself in your room on a day like this, when you could be outside on your broomstick or-"

"Or what? Theres nothing to do around here," Draco mumbled bitterly.

Narcissa frowned at him, her soft gray eyes full of concern. "What's wrong, Draco?"

"What do you mean?" he said quickly.

"You've been hiding in here ever since the Dark Lord fell. You hardly ever come out, and you barely touch your food at dinner."

Draco looked away.

"Are you upset that the Dark Lord is gone?" asked Narcissa quietly. "Need I remind you that not only did he try and send you to your death two years ago as a punishment for Lucius, but he would not permit your father to search for you during the war? We had no idea if you were still alive or not."

"No mother, you do not need to remind me." Draco sighed. "I have no compassion for the Dark Lord. I never have. In all honesty, I was overjoyed about his death. I still am. You know that."

"Then what's wrong?" Narcissa came to sit on his bed next to him. "I don't like seeing you like this, Draco."

Draco looked at his mother. She was always worried about him, always scared for him. She was probably the only person who loved him. (He wasn't entirely sure how his father felt about him.)

"You know that I don't like talking about these things." Indeed, Draco hated talking about anything personal to anyone. He'd always been like this, hiding himself away behind his witty remarks and snide come-backs, so afraid of what people might think and how they'd react. But he knew his mother would win it out of him, she always did.

"I know, it makes you feel weak," said Narcissa carefully, "but it takes courage to talk about your innermost fears. Courage is not weakness. Talk to me, Draco."

Draco snorted. "I am not a Gryffindor_,_ mother, I am a Slytherin."

"And I am so very proud," she replied sadly, running her nails through her hair.

Draco looked away from her and out of his window, where a small bird sat sat perched on the branch of a tree. The bird watched him through the window, for a moment or two, before taking flight and vanishing from view. Free to do whatever it wished.

"Look at me, Draco!" Narcissa snapped suddenly. "If you will not talk about it for your own sake, then please, tell me for mine!"

She brought her hand up to his shoulder, and said more gently, "I can't sleep at night when I know you're unhappy."

Draco frowned. They'd often had conversations about his father, but it didn't make having another one any easier. He took a deep breath and looked down into his lap.

"It's father," he said sulkily. "How am I going to please him now that there is no Dark Lord? How can I make him proud if everything he ever wanted me to be is now impossible?"

Narcissa sighed softly. "Your father has to learn to accept you for you who are, and he will, eventually. Please Draco, stop worrying about becoming the person your father expects of you, and focus more on being yourself, and leading the life you want."

"My life's always revolved around father's ambitions for me," said Draco. "I've never had the chance or space to consider what I want. I know nothing more than what father has told me I should know."

"What about at school? There you had months away from Lucius to be yourself," said Narcissa.

"Even there I am - I mean, I was - living life the way father expected. Meeting his expectations in me was my highest goal," said Draco softly."Now I have nothing."

"The more you say that, the more you shall be convinced," Narcissa said. "Now is the time for you to stop worrying about your father, and discover yourself - for yourself." Narcissa stood up and stepped away from the bed, and away from Draco.

"Actually, I'm worried about your father. It's possible they may send him back to Azkaban." Her voice was unreadable, and although Draco could not see her face with her back turned, he knew she was upset. Draco had been slightly concerned about the same thing, but only for his mother's sake. He wasn't really sure how he'd feel if his father was sent to prison again. He knew he wouldn't be truly unhappy, though this was something he would never confide in his mother. She would never understand, because although Lucius was often cruel and vindictive, she loved him.

"I've invited Harry Potter to stay with us." She said it suddenly and quickly, as though trying to make it sound casual - and failing. Draco was dumbstruck. What on earth had possessed her to do that? And why hadn't she asked his opinion on his matter?

"What!...Why?" Draco added incredulously.

"For a number of reasons..." Narcissa started slowly. "Firstly, you are in his debt, and I know how you hate feeling dependent. If he stays here for a while, shares our food and enjoys his stay, then your debt will be paid."

Draco stared at his mother. He hadn't realized how little she knew about his and Harry's relationship.

"He'll never come," he said simply. "And if he did, he would definitely not _'enjoy his stay_.'"

"And why not?" said Narcissa, with a small laugh. "Our manor far surpasses any other. He would be living a life more luxurious than I doubt he ever has before."

"Oh, I don't doubt he'll enjoy the house itself," said Malfoy grumpily, "but there is no chance that he'll enjoy the company."

"Well, you'll have to make him enjoy it then."

Draco blinked. "Why?"

Again, Narcissa sighed. "This brings me to the second reason for sending the invite. Perhaps, by getting Potter in our good books, he can help prevent Lucius' sentence to Azkaban." There was a dreamlike quality to her voice. "After all, he's not just the 'Boy Who Lived' anymore. If anyone has influence over the ministry, it's him."

Ah. Now Draco understood. _But still_... "He'll never come," he said flatly.

"You think?" said Narcissa. "I wish you two had gotten along better." She smiled slightly."Ah well, it couldn't be helped I suppose, considering the circumstances."

"Mother, he's an arrogant, attention seeking prat," Draco spat. "You would have avoided being his friend if you were me, too."

There was a pause.

"But if you do ever see him, you _will_ try, won't you? To get along with him, that is."

Draco looked at his mother, his expression was pleading, almost desperate...

"For you mother, I will try."


	4. Ginny's Loss

Harry stumbled as The Burrow swam into view. His stomach churned slightly, though he wasn't sure if it was due to the apparition or what he had just witnessed. Suddenly, his knees buckled and he fell to the ground. He struggled with his emotions, determined not to cry. _It's Ginny's loss, not mine,_ he told himself forcibly, but couldn't help the growing pain in chest, which was screaming out to be released.

He slammed his fist down, making a shallow indent in the dry earth. _How could she do this to me?_ He thought again, anger flowing through his body in giant waves, drowning him.  
His wand was still in his hand, and he was thoroughly regretting not cursing Robin when he had the chance.

"_Diffindo_!" Harry shouted, pointing his wand at a small tree. The tree suddenly ripped in two and hit the ground with a loud THUD. "_Incendio! Defodio!_" He shouted, aiming his wand at anything he could, and channeling his anger into the countryside. "_Diffindo! CONFRINGO!_"

After a minute or so, he lay on his back panting, regretting slightly his unacceptable outburst as he glanced around at the small scene of destruction. He'd have to clean up as best he could before heading into the house. He stared up at the clouds, his temper flooding quickly out of him. He could almost make out a dog and a stag, side by side, great white and fluffy, being dragged along by the wind. Harry smiled. It had been years since he had done this and he had forgotten how peaceful, how incredibly stress relieving, it was just to lie by himself and watch the sky.

Several minutes passed before he realized it was getting dark, and he swore suddenly as he stood up and began to fix up his mess. Ginny would be heading back to The Burrow any time now and he really didn't want to see her.

"Harry! We've been worried sick, it's ever so late!" Hermione rushed up to Harry the second he opened the door, her eyes wild with concern. The room behind her was empty. "Have you seen Ginny? She's not back yet either, and she's always back before dark!" she said, exasperated, peeking behind Harry as though in hope that Ginny might be hiding there.

"No," Harry lied, not meeting her eye. "I'm going to bed, I'm not actually very hungry for dinner." He didn't want to rage at Hermione, but was suddenly reminded of how very angry he was with her as well. She had known all along about Ginny's muggle. She could have told him. She _should_ have told him. They were best friends, after all!

"Oh," said Hermione with a dawning expression. "Oh, Harry, you found out, didn't you?" Her voice was quiet and meek. Harry nearly laughed. She was scared of him.

"Harry, she _really_ wanted to tell you!"

"Why didn't she then!" Harry spat, glaring at her.

"She didn't want to hurt you!"

"If she didn't want to hurt me, she wouldn't have done it in the first place."

Tears welled in Hermione's eyes. "Harry, please, look at it from Ginny's point of view. You've been practically ignoring her, ever since..." She trailed off, but Harry knew what she meant. Ever since the war. The topic of the war had been mostly avoided and it was still a touchy subject in The Burrow.

"She hasn't exactly been paying me much attention either," Harry countered.

"Of course she was going to give you some space! We've all been trying to give you space, Harry! You've been through so much, and have a lot to think about."

"If she really thought so much about me, then she might have considered that I may require some comforting after all I've been through - rather than rushing off with the first guy who'd take her," he blushed as he said it, but he was too angry to care.

"But, didn't you know?" Hermione's voice was beginning to sound weaker with every word. "They've been dating for months now."

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but closed it promptly.

"What?" He said after a period of time, without even a hint of expression. Hermione seemed to shrink slightly. "_And you knew?_ All that time, while we were camping in the forest hunting Horcruxes, AND YOU NEVER TOLD ME!"

"I didn't know then!" Hermione squeaked. "I only found out when we returned-"

But Harry wasn't listening, he pushed past her and stormed out into the hallway.

"Harry!"

"Piss off!" Harry roared back at her as she tried to follow. He turned away from her and marched up the stairs. When he reached Ron's room he slammed the door shut and sank onto the stretcher. He punched his pillow hard, and didn't bother to try and stop the flow of tears and they cascaded from his eyes.

_Why me?_

The following morning, Harry woke up early with a plan in mind. A very vague plan, perhaps, but a plan he was determined to follow none-the-less. He was going to leave The Burrow that very morning and get a room at the Leaky Cauldren. From there on he wasn't entirely sure what he'd do, but he'd come to that when he got there. As usual, Ron was still asleep, so Harry packed his things quietly. He didn't have much and all his possessions, but for his broom, fit easily into his rucksack. He had decided that he was going to stay for breakfast. As much as he didn't want to see Ginny he knew he couldn't just disappear without saying goodbye to the rest of the Weasleys.

Harry thought he might be the first one up as he wondered down to the kitchen, but was surprised when he saw Hermione sitting alone at the table with a cup of tea. She looked up at him as he entered. Her eyes were red, suggesting that she had either been crying, or had gotten very little sleep that night. Possibly both. Harry suddenly felt slightly sorry for shouting at her the previous night.

"Morning, Hermione," Harry said awkwardly, and he cringed as Hermione flinched. However, when it seemed she was sure Harry wasn't going to start yelling again, she replied.

"Good Morning, Harry." Harry sat down opposite her, and for a few seconds they remained in silence, ?Hermione taking the occasional sip of her drink. "Harry, I'm so sorry," she said eventually. "You're right, we should have told you."

"No," Harry replied gently. "Ginny told you in confidence. I can understand why you didn't tell me." After a pause, he added, "I shouldn't have yelled at you like that." Hermione smiled at him.

"Harry dear, Hermione, you two are up early!" Mrs Weasley had just walked in, surprising them both. Harry hadn't realized that Mrs Weasley was such an early riser. She was wearing a flowery night gown and large fluffy brown slippers.

"Good morning, Mrs. Weasley!" said Hermione, suddenly sounding much more cheerful. "Can I help with anything?"

"Breakfast isn't for another hour, I'm afraid, but I can whip you two up some toast if you're hungry?" Mrs Weasley made to put on her apron.

"Oh, I'm fine, thanks," said Hermione politely, as Harry also assured Mrs Weasley that he could wait an hour. Hermione yawned, and Mrs. Weasley cast her a sympathetic look.

"You should be asleep, dear. If anyone should be up offering to help me it ought to be that ungrateful daughter of mine."

Harry shot Hermione a questioning expression, which Mrs. Weasley caught.

"Ginny didn't come home till midnight last night, the nerve of her!" she stormed, sending a piece of toast on a plate skidding along the table between Harry and Hermione, having apparently forgotten that neither were hungry. "Never again!"

Harry felt himself smirk with satisfaction. It didn't look like Ginny wouldn't be seeing much more of her muggle friend for a while, he thought.

"I'm sure she just lost track of time," said Hermione weakly, and Harry glared at her.

"That's no excuse," Mrs Weasley snapped back before busying herself with last night's dishes.

By breakfast time all the Weasleys but Ginny were up and Harry still hadn't told anyone of his plan to leave. He wasn't entirely sure how he was going to announce it, and he hoped that no one would try and convince him to stay.

"Harry, did you hear about Ginny?" Ron said as he sat down next to Harry. "It was morning before she got home. Mum had a fit! She thinks Ginny's got a boyfriend in the village!" He laughed loudly, but stopped as Hermione gave him a sharp look.

"What?" he asked, clueless.

Hermione looked at Harry apologetically, but said nothing.

"Harry," said Ron suddenly, "Do you want to play Quidditch again after breakfast?"

"Actually, Ron, I don't really feel in the mood," said Harry. Ron looked crestfallen.

"What about Wizards' Chess?"

"You know I'll lose."

"Exploding Snap?" asked Ron hopefully.

"Sorry, Ron."

"What's up, mate?" asked Ron.

Harry avoided his gaze, and watched George as he picked at his food silently. From the corner of his eye he saw Hermione shake her head at Ron, but Ron pursued.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry smiled at his best friend. "It's just... I don't think I'll be staying here much longer."

"What do you mean?" Ron demanded instantly.

"Exactly that. I can't stay here any longer, Ron. I need to go out and make something of my life"

"But Harry," Hermione interrupted. "You've already made something of your life. Don't you think you deserve some peace and rest?"

"Yeah!" Ron added.

Harry's smile faded, he hadn't expected them to understand.

"Since when was I one to live a peaceful life?" He laughed bitterly. "Besides, I need some time alone."

"But where will you go?" asked Ron.

"What will you do?" questioned Hermione at the same time.

"I want to come, too!" Ron added as an afterthought.

"Ron, he said he wants some _alone_ time. That generally means time away from people like you," Hermione snapped.

"Don't take it personally," Harry pleaded. "I'll come back, I promise."

Ron and Hermione shared a look, before turning back to Harry.

"You will write, won't you?" asked Hermione earnestly.

"Of course."

Having told Ron and Hermione, Harry found it easier telling the rest of the Weasleys. Ginny still hadn't surfaced from her room, and Harry was glad. After breakfast, he emerged into the dining area with his rucksack and broom.

"When you said you were leaving, I didn't think you meant immediately!" Mrs Weasly screeched when she saw him.

"Sorry, Mrs. Weasley."

"Well, at least wait until I've finished making you a packed lunch," she said, hurrying back to the kitchen bench.

"So, this is it then?" Ron held out his hand to Harry.

"I won't be long." Harry assured him, grasping his hand firmly.

"You best not be."

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione suddenly appeared between them, breaking their hand shake, and flinging her arms around Harry before removing herself just as quickly. She sniffed as she stepped back in line with Ron.

"It's going to be awfully quiet without you!"

Harry grinned. "I'll send you a howler every week." And Hermione made a face.

With Mrs. Weasley's lunch in hand, Harry stepped out onto the sunny porch and glanced back to take one last look at Hermione and the Weasleys, before turning and marching away, ready for a new adventure.


	5. A Night to Forget

The Leaky Cauldron was, for the first time in the past two weeks that Harry had been staying there, nearly empty, and he was relieved. Over the past fortnight, as people had begun to find out that 'Harry Potter was staying in Diagon Ally', the pub had been packed with Witches and Wizards wanting to see him, and he had been forced to stay hidden away in his room for the most part. Even then he'd had ministry officials banging at his door seeking advice, and reporters from the prophet (Which had only recently started circulation again) requesting interviews.

There had been a few highlights, however. Just the other day he had seen Luna Lovegood accompanied by (unfortunately) her father. It had been good to see her again. She had also received various letters from other DA members including Neville, Dean and Seamus, and it sounded to Harry like they were getting just as much attention as he was. Unlike him, though, they seemed to be enjoying it, and for this Harry was happy.

Harry cast his gaze up to the pubs noticeboard. It was scattered with various cuttings from the Daily Prophet, mostly bearing his face and headers such as _'The Boy Who Lived Lives Again' _and _'Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World'_. He cringed until he caught sight of a picture of the Order of The Phoenix member Kingsley Shacklbot. It seemed that Kingsley, who had been acting as temporary minister, had now been assigned the post permanently. Harry was sure he'd do a great job, much better by far than Fudge or Scrimgeor. Next to Kingsley's article there was a dozen or so photos of the wars battlefield, which had supposedly been taken from a camera found in the wreckage. Harry thought instantly of the the small, limp body of Colin Creevy. His sightless, soulless eyes staring into nothingness.

Harry shook his head hard to remove the image, and jumped as someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"My my, if it isn't 'The Boy Who Lived'." A cloaked witch stood before him carrying a half empty bottle of rather expensive goblin made wine. "Twice now, I believe! But of course, you wouldn't have survived the second time if it hadn't been for me!" The woman let out a croaky laugh, and stumbled into the chair next to Harry. She was very obviously drunk.

"Narcissa," said Harry uncertainly. "How have you been?" He hadn't replied to her letter, and he hoped she wasn't too upset. He really didn't fancy spending his evening fighting a drunk (ex?) Death Eater.

"Excellent, Potter, just excellent now that the dark Lord has finally been vanquished, and our home is now our own again." But to Harry, she certainly didn't look excellent. She looked rather ill.

"And it's all thanks to you," Narcissa carried on. "And me." She smiled gleefully. "Looks like you owe me now eh, Potter?"

"Hang on," Harry argued. "I saved your sons life. Doesn't that make us even?"

"Of course not, _silly_!" Narcissa giggled. "That just means that Draco is in debt to you, and your still in debt to me. And so, to rid ourselves of this confusion, you must come and stay with us in our manor. That way everyone's happy!" And she took another swig of her wine. Harry couldn't see the logic in this at all. Why on earth did Narcissa want him at her manor?

"Have some wine, Potter, it's the very best." And she conjured a glass out of thin air (though it took her a few attempts) and filled it rather messily with the glistening pink liquid.

"And what if I don't want to come and live in your...manor." Harry said cautiously, taking a small, suspicious sip of the wine (which tasted surprisingly delicious.)

"Oh, but of course you must!" Narcissa exclaimed, waggling a finger in Harry's face. "Because if you don't your debt will _never_ be paid, and you of all people know how strong a Wizard's life debt is. Besides, surely you don't want to continue living here, in the Leaky Cauldron?" She shrieked with laughter and Harry scowled.

"I suppose not," he muttered, taking another sip of the wine. He was still, of course, suspicious of her intentions, but also some what curious. Suddenly, and quite out of the blue, a simple but effective (or at least, he hoped it would be effective) idea came to mind.

"Narcissa," he said softly after a short moment in which Narcissa had skulled the rest of her drink, "Your glass is nearly empty."

"Oh dear, so it is!" she slurred happily. "But I can hardly drink if your not drinking yourself!"

Harry frowned down at his half full glass. When he'd taken the Felix Elixer neither Hagrid nor Slughorn had tried to persuade him to drink more, but he didn't have Felix now and If Narcissa had any secrets to share he would need her slightly more drunk before she would spill them. So he downed the glass in one, and as the warm liquid traveled down his throat he began to feel more at ease. Narcissa refilled his glass as well as her own.

"So, what brings you to the Leaky Cauldron?" Harry tried to ask casually. He knew the Malfoy's to be wealthy, and couldn't imagine why she would be drinking here when she could be drinking in her fancy mansion. However, he regretted asking, because Narcissa's eyes suddenly teared up and Harry knew from friend's stories that drunk, emotional woman were very difficult to handle.

"I had to get out of the house," she said quietly. "Away from all the memories."

"Oh." Harry sipped away absently at the wine. It really did taste very good.

"You wouldn't understand, you always hated him!" Narcissa sniffed.

"Malfoy?" asked Harry, confused.

"You mean Draco? No, silly boy, Lucius!" she wailed. "They've sent him to Azkaban!" Harry blinked. Of course they had. He was actually rather surprised that she wasn't in prison too, now that he thought about it, but he decided it was probably for the best that she wasn't.

"I'm sorry." He was surprised at the slight slur to his voice. The rich, warm wine coated his mouth and was beginning to make him feel sleepy.

"That's sweet of you." Narcissa smiled as she filled Harry's glass which was, yet again, empty. He gulped it down immediately.

"Looks like we need some more wine!" she exclaimed a little more cheerfully as she stumbled to her feet, and made her way (somehow) over to the bar.

Harry relaxed into his chair and watched her go, his head buzzing comfortably. He couldn't remember ever feeling this good, and he was slipping past the point where it concerned him. He felt as though he could do anything without consequence.

When Narcissa returned Harry noticed that her hood had fallen down to reveal her thick blond hair, which was not silvery like her sons but the color of gold. It seemed to glow in the candle lit pub. He caught her eye and noticed that they were not the soft-gray color of Draco's eyes, but a beautiful sky blue.

Her hand brushed his as she topped up his glass. Her skin was ever so soft. He blushed slightly. Narcissa didn't sit down but continued to hold his gaze with those lovely blue eyes, and he stood up, though rather shakily. She took a step in towards him. A single strand of loose hair hung in her eye, and he wanted so much to brush it away.

"It's a bit crowded in here," she breathed softly into his ear, pushing his hair back slightly. He could feel the heat radiating from her body. The room wasn't at all crowded, but Harry wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to the rest of the pub.

He nodded, for words escaped him, and Narcissa grabbed his hand and they stumbled through an open door which lead to a thin staircase. All quite suddenly, she took his lips with hers. It wasn't a quick, chaste kiss, but warm and passionate and tasting of that oh so sweet lacquer. He felt himself responding as she pushed him up against the wall, and he brought his hand up to her soft, silky hair.

_I shouldn't be doing this, _said something in his head. It was a very distant voice and it took Harry a second to register it.

_Who not? _He countered stubbornly, his tongue meeting Narcissa's and sending shivers up his spine that weren't at all unpleasant. He tried to wonder why, all those times he'd seen her before, he hadn't noticed how incredibly beautiful she really was, but it made his head spin uncomfortably, and he decided that thinking was probably not the best idea at the moment.

_She's a Death Eater, _the voice said.

Harry pulled Narcissa closer into his body. They were about the same height, though Narcissa was perhaps a little taller. Disappointment sunk like a stone into his stomach as he felt her lips pull away, before he realized that they had simply moved to his neck, where they were now suckling quiet happily. He moaned softly.

_No, I like this. Go away, _he thought, blocking out the irritating voice in his subconsciouses.

"Harry," Narcissa whispered. "You really are a very beautiful boy."

_Boy?_ Harry thought outraged.

"I'm a man," someone growled. A few seconds later Harry realized it had been him.

If Harry thought back to it later he would have had no idea how they had managed, while highly intoxicated, to get up the flight of stairs and into Harry's room - the second bottle of wine undamaged in Narcissa's grip - but manage it they did. He wasn't even sure if they had untangled themselves during the migration.

"So," Narcissa panted as they toppled onto the bed, "what's your final word on coming to stay with me in my manor?"

"What?" Her voice sounded so far away...

"Say yes."

"Yes," he whispered, and the last thing he saw was Narcissa's gloating face before he blacked out.


	6. Malfoy Manor

Harry tried to sit up, but his back blatantly refused and his head hurt something awful, so instead he simply opened his eyes and stared groggily up at the ceiling (which seemed much higher than he remembered it.) He yawned and closed his eyes again, sinking into the thick duvet and silk sheets.

_But the Leaky Cauldron doesn't have silk sheets,_ he reminded himself sleepily.

His eyes snapped open and he jumped out of bed.

"Where the bloody hell am I?!"

* * *

Draco Malfoy tiptoed up to his parents bedroom. It was noon and his mother was still in bed. Although he knew she'd be angry if he woke her, he was sure she'd be even angrier if he didn't.

He knocked gently at the door.

"Mother?" he called softly, and as he had expected there was no reply. He pushed the door to and stepped inside. Narcissa lay sprawled alone on the bed, still in the purple evening dress she had been wearing the previous night. Her traveling cloak lay discarded on the floor, along with an empty tell-tale wine bottle.

"You got drunk again last night," said Draco quietly, a trace of disappointment in his voice. He picked up the bottle and threw it into her waste paper bin, and finding the bed spread on the floor, he threw it over her sleeping body.

"I wish you wouldn't Mother. I worry for you when you go out alone," he whispered.

Deciding that she needed the sleep after all, he let her be and left the room. Narcissa didn't even stir.

* * *

The room around Harry was, in his opinion, quite magnificent. An empty picture hung above the bed, the frame designed with intricate patterns of leaves and thorned flowers. A large ornate mirror hung on the opposite side of the room adorned with carvings of dragons and winged servants which moved around the frame licking the air with their tiny stone tongues. For a moment he was fascinated, until the book shelf next to it caught his eye. Or rather, the books on the book shelf.

Harry read the titles: 'A Guide to the Pure Blood Lines', 'The Secrets of Salazar Slytherin,' and 'The Act Against Mudbloods' were just a few of the non fiction titles that Harry needed to deduce that he was in the house of a Slytherin. This finding did not lighten his mood at all.

He swore loudly. How on earth had he managed to get himself caught by a Slytherin? He thought back to the previous night, or rather he_ tried_ to think back to it, but it was all a blank. He strained his memory, trying to think, and eventually he could vaguely remember sitting at a large round table in the Leaky Cauldron, quite alone, until a cloaked figure had joined him. But try as he might, he couldn't remember just who that person had been, or what they had discussed. Most importantly, he couldn't remember how he had managed to get himself caught and brought here. Wherever 'here' was. Perhaps he had been Obliviated? That was probably the most likely scenario, Harry thought, but it still didn't explain the headache.

Harry searched the room for a way out. There was a tall door engraved with similar images to the mirror which Harry presumed was locked, and a window which, to Harry's surprise, was open. However, when he approached the window and looked outside he realized why his captives hadn't bothered to shut it. The room was two stories up off the ground.

He cursed. And cursed again. And then cursed a little more, before deciding that swearing wasn't going to get him anywhere and flopping back down on the bed. It was still as warm as it had been when he had left it and probably the most comfortable bed Harry had ever slept in.

_If I was being held prisoner, why would they go to such an effort to make me comfortable?_ he thought suddenly, and reached into his back pocket. He was still wearing his jeans, and amazingly, his wand was still there. He had no idea why he hadn't felt it through the fabric earlier.

He pointed it at the bookcase, and said "accio 'The Secrets of Salazar Slytherin'" and the book flew directly into his left hand. _Excellent,_ Harry thought with satisfaction, dropping it to the floor. _It still works fine then._ He took a step forward and turned on the spot, The Burrow firmly in mind.

Everything went black as Harry began to spin, and he felt the usual but still unsettling compressing sensation that came with dissaperating. And then suddenly it stopped, and as it started again he felt weirdly like he was spinning the opposite way. Light flooded his vision as he apparated, and the room from before appeared around him. It looked as though it wouldn't be so easy to escape after all.

Someone began to cackle behind him, and Harry turned around irritably to see who was laughing at him. The portrait which he had thought to be empty was now occupied with a rather insane looking witch. Her purple hair was thick and messy and she seemed to be missing most of her teeth.

"You could always try the door!" She had an annoyingly high pitched voice. Harry glared at her.

"Now don't go looking at me like that," she said with a tut. "I know for a fact that the mistress didn't lock it when she left."

"Your mistress? And who might she be?" asked Harry eagerly.

"Oh, you'll see," said the painting, flashing him a nearly toothless grin before disappearing out of the frame.

Harry turned to the door and reached for the handle. A couple of the snakes hissed at him as he turned it, but he found that it was, embarrassingly, unlocked. He pushed it to and stepped quickly outside, nearly colliding with someone passing on the other side.

White blond hair, pale skin and (Harry couldn't help noticing) the faint but delicious smell of an expensive cologne, it was none other than Draco Malfoy. Harry instantly raised his wand, directing it at the boys started face. But as Malfoy recovered from the shock of nearly being walked into, he only gaped at it.

"How the _hell_ did you get in here?" he shrieked after a stunned pause.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I was about to ask you the same question." The two boys stared at each other. For a moment Draco continue to looked confused, but he soon arranged his expression to one of mild understanding. Harry lowered his wand. "Where am I?" he asked.

"Malfoy Manor," said Malfoy stonily. "But..."

"But what?"

Malfoy hesitated before replying. "Last week the ministry put a charm on the house. No one can bring anyone into the house without that persons consent. It seems they think, after everything, we'd still be using our house to harbor convicts and hold prisoners. So either you allowed a Malfoy to bring you in or you got in yourself. I think the latter is less likely, as it's pretty much impossible to sneak into Malfoy Manor."

"I didn't do either," said Harry defiantly, but Malfoy ignored him.

"However, just as we can't bring you in without _your _consent, you can't leave without _ours_." Malfoy smiled nastily. "That was a little trick left by my father, before he was taken away to Azkaban."

_So I'm stuck in this house until Malfoy decides he doesn't want me here anymore._ Harry thought bitterly.

"Your fathers in prison?" he asked out loud, and he felt a strange sense of dejavu, as though he'd discussed the matter before.

"Yes," said Draco, with an air that said all too clearly that he didn't want to discuss it any further. "It looks like you must have come with my mother. She'll probably deal with you when she's awake." He turned away and continued to make his way down the corridor and away from Harry.

"Wait! Malfoy!" Harry shouted after him. "OI!" Malfoy halted and cast a wary glance over his shoulder.

"What am I supposed to do until then?" Harry asked, looking around the hall. Was he allowed to leave the room?

"Anything," Malfoy snapped back, and then after a beat, and reminding Harry strongly of the time at the lake, he sighed and said "Sorry". He turned back around the face Harry, his expression unreadable. "Would you like some breakfast?"

Harry blinked. Did Malfoy just offer him breakfast?

"Well, brunch rather. It's gone twelve," said Malfoy, his voice casual but face still a mask. Harry wondered, not for the first time, if he had been sincere about what he had said at the memorial. He pictured Malfoy as he had been back then, with his tear strewn face and glossy eyes. He had looked so fragile and innocent. So helpless, that he had to believe it.

He looked at Malfoy now for the first time properly. His hair had been cut since their last encounter, and although he still looked very skinny he no longer looked ill. He wore a designer shirt and tight, expensive jeans. Both of Muggle design, which made Harry smirk.

"What are you smiling at?" Malfoy demanded.

"Nothing. Brunch would be lovely."


	7. Brunch

Harry followed Malfoy through various hallways and corridors. He couldn't help but stare in awe at the immaculate detail that the Malfoy's seemed to apply to every aspect of their home. He had paid no attention to it the last time he had been here, which was hardly surprising considering he had spent most of that time in the dungeon. Snakes, dragons and other cold blooded creatures seemed to have found their way into the architecture; their heads making silver doorknobs and their interlocked bodies forming archways. Their house was furnished expensively, but not to the point of showing off. It wasn't cluttered, but tidy and clean and thoroughly well organized. Harry was used to Hogwarts and The Burrow where you'd be hard done by to find two rooms that looked as though the interior design was meant to be in any way similar. The neatness reminded him horribly of the Dursleys.

The two boys entered a very large room occupied by a very long wooden table. Malfoy, who hadn't said a word up until now, turned to Harry and said 'sit', before vanishing through a door at the opposite end of the room.

Nonplussed, but still highly suspicious, Harry chose a seat at one of the lengths of the table. He considered for a second simply leaving the room and trying to find his own way out of the huge manor, but remembered what Malfoy had said about needing permission to leave. He wasn't quite sure that he wanted to find out what would happen if he simply tried to walk out of the house. He had had enough experience with dark magic to know that it was something not to experiment with.

He relaxed into the chair. His head still hurt and he vaguely wondered if there was a spell that would help with it. He could hardly believe that, after all those years of his scar giving him terrible headaches, he hadn't once searched for some form of magical relief. However, although the pain his scar had given him had been very painful, it had also been brief. The pain he felt now wasn't nearly as painful, but was still naggingly annoying.

Ten minutes later, Malfoy still hadn't appeared and Harry returned to musing over the situation. It seemed to him that, despite what Malfoy might say, he was being held prisoner here in Malfoy Manor. An yet, he was still trusted with his wand and it looked as though he was allowed to wonder the house as much as he pleased. Surely it would have been easier to lock him in a cell? The Malfoys had no moral objections to doing such things. After all, they'd done it before, so why the sudden act of compassion? Perhaps things would all become clear after the arrival of Malfoy's mother.

Malfoy came in later with a very large silver platter ladened with bacon, sausages and eggs, as well as two smaller plates and cutlery, which he placed in the middle of the table.

"Don't you have house elves to do that?" asked Harry, surprised. He had thought the Malfoys would have found a replacement for Dobby by now.

Small pink patches appeared on Mafloy's cheeks. "Of course we do," he snapped.

"But why-"

"Mother prefers it when I cook," said Malfoy icily.

"You cook?" Harry nearly laughed. He could not imagine Malfoy in a kitchen. "And here's me thinking that you've never done an honest days work in your life." His eyes fell suspiciously to the food in front of him. "You cooked this?" he asked. The flush deepened on Malfoy's pale face.

"Obviously."

"And you expect me to eat it?" asked Harry, raising his eyebrows.

Malfoy's eyes flashed angrily. "No Potter, I expect you transfigure it into a broomstick. Of course you're supposed to eat it!"

"So you don't think it would be at all foolish for me to accept food from an enemy, knowing full well that he prepared it himself, while suspicious that it could be poison?"

Malfoy stared it him. "Why the bloody hell would I want to poison you?" .

"Oh I don't know, maybe because I just killed the person you look up to most, your leader, Lord Voldemort," said Harry rolling his eyes. Malfoy flinched slightly at the name of the deceased Wizard.

"You've obviously forgotten about what I said to you at the lake then Potter," he said quietly. It was the first time that he had referred to their meeting at the memorial. "I don't – I didn't, look up to the Dark Lord." He diverted his eyes, and stared hard at the yolk oozing down the side of one of the eggs. "We don't have to be enemies, you know."

Harry laughed gently. "You don't like me, and I sure as hell don't like you. Usually, when two people loath each other this much, they call it being enemies."

Malfoy seemed to be trying to muster up the courage to say what he wanted to say next, and to Harry it seemed like a pretty big task. Malfoy was biting his lip and still staring intently at the untouched 'brunch'. "I don't hate you," he said, slowly.

Harry considered this. If it hadn't been for the way Malfoy had acted on the memorial night, weeks previously, he wouldn't have believed him. Now he wasn't so sure.

"Look, Potter, are you going to eat that or what?" Malfoy snapped suddenly.

"What – when I don't know if it's poison or not?" said Harry.

Malfoy made an exasperated noise somewhere between a grunt and a snarl. "Merlin! Look,' he said, taking one of the plates and piling it with food, 'I'll eat it too. Then we can both _die together_." He glared at Harry as he sat down on the opposite side of the table. Harry noticed that he sat with his shoulders back and head high, and watched as he took a small mouthful of food. He had obviously been taught etiquette that Harry never had, and Harry suddenly self conscious about his own slouching posture, and his elbow on the table. He hurried to arrange himself as he grabbed a plate of eggs.

Neither spoke while they ate. Harry was surprised at how tasty the food was, but of course said nothing of it to Malfoy. However he did offer to help tidy up afterwards, but Malfoy pointed out that even if the house elves didn't always do the cooking, they were there for a reason, and so they left the dishes on the table.

* * *

"What on earth does she think she's playing at, sleeping in this long!" Draco stormed as marched into the living room, closely followed by a very confused Harry Potter, and dropped himself into one of the armchairs. He glared at Potter. _And what does she expect me to do with _him? he thought sulkily, _Make friends with him? Ha! It's hard enough just trying to be polite. He'd never accept me as a friend. Not to mention, how am I supposed to put up with his Gryffindor arrogance?_

"She'll know what to do with you when she wakes up. Are you going to sit down or what?" Draco said aloud.

"No," Potter replied simply.

"Fine," Draco snapped back, and then after a moment he said, "why not?"

"Because, Malfoy, I haven't trusted a thing you've ever said or done in the past, so would that change now?" Potter's voice was cold, but Draco also noticed what he thought was an edge of eagerness. Draco smirked inwardly. Maybe he could do this after all.

"Why do you hate me so much, that you refuse to give me a second chance?" he asked slowly, fixing his eyes on Potter's.

Potter gave a small laugh and raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. He seemed to be thinking, and was absently chewing on his bottom lip.

"I've never really approved of Dark Arts, or of what the Dark Lord did," said Draco carefully. He diverted his eyes and cast a hand through his silvery hair, trying to look sincere. "But, I told you... my life revolves around my father. I had to do what I thought would please him. I had to live up to my name, the name of the Malfoys. I had to live up to the house that I was sorted in to..." he trailed off convincingly, and sighed, allowing himself the catch Potters eye again.

"I'm not saying that I've changed, exactly," he added, not overly surprised that he was finding the lying so easy. "It's just that the side you saw of me wasn't the real me. It was the person I had to become on the out side... to protect myself."

Potter was watching him with the same thoughtful expression. He didn't look _entirely _unconvinced, Draco thought.

"And why is it that you want this 'second chance'?" Potter asked narrowing his eyes. "What will you gain from it?"

Draco considered his answer carefully. It would be stupid to tell him that he needed his help getting his father out of jail at this point. He needed to give another reason.

"That night at the lake I realized that you weren't as arrogant and self centered as I thought you were," said Draco, and this, at least, wasn't a _complete_ lie. "To be honest, I'd always thought of you as the golden boy who'd always gotten the attention, who relied on everyone else to do things for him. The boy who had ruined my father by bringing on the downfall of the Dark Lord, ruined my families happiness. I didn't stop to think that there may be more to you than that, and that night I realized... that there is." He held Potters green eyes in his, honest embarrassment churning in his stomach.

Potter blinked a few times, looking surprised. "You...wait, what?"

Draco resisted the temptation to sigh. Was he really this thick? Instead he put on a soft, bitter voice, glad to be able to resort once again to acting. "I never really had a friend. You know, a proper one. Who I could talk to. Really_ talk_ to. I could never act the way I did around you, at the lake, with any of my Slytherin friends." His voice wavered slightly at the last, unfamiliar words, as he suddenly realized that what he was saying was true. Was that why he had spent that evening with Potter, and told him what he had? He had spent countless sleepless nights since, trying to work out what had made him do it, what had made him show such weakness to someone he had always considered an enemy. Had he found the answer?

"I _want_ to be your friend," he said, barely audible, surprising even himself.

* * *

Harry stared at Malfoy curiously. _Friends?_ Was that why he had been dragged here and forced to stay at the manor? Was Malfoy really that lonely? He had been happy believing that Malfoy was, pure and simple, a Death Eater. That we was cruel and vindictive. _Why does he have to go and complicate things? _

He now wasn't entirely sure what to think of Malfoy. He couldn't help but pity him, but did he really want to be his friend? Was it even possible? He reminded himself of all the horrible things Malfoy had said and done in the past. The way he had tormented Harry and his friends.

_He did apologize, though,_ thought Harry. _And after all, Dumbledore gave Snape a second chance, and Snape turned out to be useful... but what am I thinking? This is Draco Malfoy! I hate him, I always have. He helped the Death Eaters into the castle. It's his fault so many are dead. And how do I know that this isn't another one of Malfoy's tricks?_

"I don't think we can ever be friends Malfoy," he said firmly, but quietly. He couldn't help, however, the unusual feeling regret that seemed to have found it's way into his stomach. .

"I understand," Malfoy said, and Harry was taken aback. He had expected him to argue. Instead, Malfoy stood up and looked over Harry shoulder, taking on his usual straight posture, his eyes suddenly dry and expression once again unreadable.

"Hello mother," he added abruptly.


	8. A Talk With Narcissa

Narcissa Malfoy stood in the arched door way in a thick, fluffy white dressing gown, and her eyes lit up when she saw Harry. She had a smirk plastered on her face that Harry recognized too well, for he had seen it a countless amount of times on Malfoy's lips. However, it seemed somewhat awkward and forced.

"Good morning Draco!" she exclaimed, without taking her eyes from Harry."Harry, I trust that you slept well?" Harry thought he heard a mocking tone to her voice and nearly jumped when she gave him a small wink. He opened his mouth to speak, when an image of Narcissa appeared in his head, a heavy traveling cloak draped around her shoulders, a bottle of wine in her hand, a drop of the pink liquid on her lips... _What the hell? _He massaged his throbbing temples.

"You have a headache!" Narcissa cooed. "Draco dear, would you mind fetching him something to help ease the pain?" Malfoy seemed to stiffen slightly to Harry's right, but nodded to his mother and left the room without a word. Harry glared up at Narcissa.

"How did I get here?" he demanded, and she laughed softly.

"Why, I brought you here!" Her smile widened, "but surely you remember?" she said mockingly, and Harry was now sure that she had wiped his memories of last night. He cursed himself and Narcissa laughed again.

"It seems to me that you drank a little too much last night," said Narcissa.

"I don't drink." _At least, not enough to get drunk_! Harry wished she'd stop smiling. It was making him feel horribly ignorant.

"Oh, but you did last night. And far too much, if you don't remember. But it was a very strong wine, and of the best of quality. I'm actually surprised you handled it as well as you did." She took a few steps closer, and sat herself down on an armchair in front of Harry, beckoning that he seat himself as well. He obliged reluctantly.

"What did you do?" he croaked. He had a half mind to curse her, but his curiosity, once again, got the best of him. She avoided his eyes and admired her nails. Perfect nails, just like Malfoy's.

"We met in the Leaky Cauldron," she started, "and we drank a bit and talked a bit. Oh don't worry, you didn't say anything regrettable. And then-" she tapped the arm of the chair, and licked her lips, as though steeling herself. "And then I reminded you about the letter, you remember the letter, at least? Yes, well I asked you if you still needed a place to stay, and you agreed to come to Malfoy Manor. You passed out soon after, and I bought you here. You really need to learn to handle your drink properly."

"So you got me drunk in order to trick me into coming here?" Harry rose back to his feet, angrily.

"You got yourself drunk," she said.

Harry chewed the inside of his lip and glared at her. He wasn't sure if he believed her story or not, but now that she mentioned it, he could recall a bottle of wine, a table, candles... but it was all a blur. Had he really been drunk?

"I'm not staying here," he said defiantly.

"Where else have you got?"

The Burrow? He couldn't go back there, he'd have to face Ginny. Grimmuald Place? Death Eater's were rumored to be stalking the street – he'd never get any peace. He'd already decided that he couldn't live at the Leaky Cauldron. He remained silent.

"Nowhere," she concluded softly. "We're not going to hurt you, Harry. You saved Draco. You saved everyone. We only want to help."

Harry felt the headache gnawing at his skull. What had gotten into the Malfoys? Could he trust them? Did he have a choice? Just as that moment, Malfoy walked in carrying a tiny purple bottle, which he tossed to Harry.

"Good choice," Narcissa said approvingly. "It's a Hang Over Antidote," she explained to Harry. "Most people take it before they go to sleep to prevent hang overs, but it can also be taken afterwards. You'll only need a mouthful. I'm afraid it doesn't taste very nice."

Harry stared at the bottle in his fingers. This all seemed completely absurd to him. He didn't open it, and looked back at Narcissa.

"You don't have to drink it," she snapped. "I just thought it might help." She stood up and yawned, and began to walk away.

"Be a darling and cook me something for lunch, won't you Draco? And Harry, make yourself at home." Her bare feet padded away silently, probably back to bed. Harry wondered if she had a hangover herself. He groaned slightly, his head pounding.

"You should probably take that," he heard Malfoy mutter, and Harry was surprised to feel himself nod, and unscrew the bottle lid. He took a large mouthful, but nearly spat it back out. It tasted very bitter, and had a coppery taste to it. However, the moment it hit his tongue, he felt the drums in his head begin to beat a little slower, and eventually halt altogether. He blinked, and the room seemed slightly darker, Malfoy's breathing slightly quieter. He relaxed.

"I didn't take you for an alcoholic Potter." Malfoy came to take his mothers seat in front of him, with the official Malfoy smirk. Harry glared at him.

"I was joking. I'm going to go and make something for Mother to eat." He looked slightly awkward as he added, "do you want anything else?"

Harry shook his head, but then nodded, changing his mind. "Am I allowed to send a letter?" It looked like he had no choice but to play their game for a while.

Malfoy looked thoughtful, which was an expression Harry couldn't ever recall seeing on the other boys face.

"I don't know if that's a good idea. I'll ask mother.," he said at last. Harry nodded, again surprising himself with his agreeableness. Or was it simply acceptance?

"You know where your room is. If you need anything, I'll be in the kitchen. You can enter any room that isn't locked." Malfoy began to walk away. "And don't try leaving the house. I know it'll be hard for you, but you'll need to put aside your Gryfindor idiocy for once." And with that he vanished back into the dining room, followed by an angry snarl from Harry.

He was still Draco Malfoy, through and through.

--

Harry flopped down onto the bed. Could he really trust the Malfoy's? Of course not. The question had been the highlight of his thoughts ever since waking up that morning. They were keeping him here against his will. That ought to be enough to make him not trust them, let alone all the things they had done in the past. But then, he hadn't exactly asked to leave. Would they let him if he did? Unlikely.

And then there was Malfoy and the way he had been acting lately. Harry was beginning to see a new side of him... a side that wasn't so bad (but was certainly more confusing.)

Thoughts tumbled around in his head, but no matter how many times he replayed the last twelve hours, he couldn't come to a conclusion, and eventually he gave up. If he couldn't leave he'd just have to stay and see what happened. After all, he still had his wand. Malfoy and Narcissa were the only ones in the house as far as he knew, (besides the house elves), and he was _fairly_ sure he could take them both on if they tried anything.

The Malfoy's weren't the worst people who could have abducted him, and while Harry was certain that they wanted something from him, it also seemed like they weren't going to force it out of him.

_I'll just have to wait and see._


	9. The Secret Garden

It was still dark when Harry woke up the following morning. In fact, he wasn't even sure if it _was_ morning yet, or if was just later on in the evening. No longer tired, he sat up and stretched. The room was a foggy gray. He reached out for his glasses, but even after putting them on the room was still dark. However, it was not pitch black, and Harry could see the waxing moon through one of the two large windows to his left.

For a moment he sat there looking out at the sky and wondering seriously if any wizard had ever been to the moon.

He snorted and stood up, his back clicking as he stretched. He padded across the carpeted floor and, opening the door with a slight creak, he stepped out into the hallway.

"Lumos." His wand lit up the long hall with a golden light. It was silent and still. Harry began to walk in the direction opposite to the one he had traveled yesterday. He wasn't heading anywhere in particular, but wanted to explore the mansion a little. Malfoy had given him permission, after all.

The corridors were all the same and he couldn't make much out in the darkness. He pushed open a few doors, but found nothing special; studies, empty bedrooms, two libraries, a drawing room. There were several locked doors, more than Harry had expected. But, after thinking over it, he realized that it made sense. He was in the home of Dark Wizards, of course they'd be hiding things. He had tried 'Alohomora' on a few, but they wouldn't budge.

Soon Harry was so deep into the manor that he had no idea how he would ever find his way back to the room. His wand only lit up a few meters in front of him, and beyond that the darkness was like a fog.

Suddenly, Harry felt something stir behind him. He spun around in time to see what he thought was a flash of movement, but lifting his wand higher proved that there was nothing in the corridor but a huge painting of a basilisk, which hung a few feet back, asleep.

_I must have imagined it,_ he thought, although uncertainly, and he pressed on.

Presently, he came across an arched door which was slightly ajar. It wasn't open enough for him to see past, but he could feel an unusual light breeze coming from the small gap. Curious, he pushed the door aside and peered through.

His eyes met a beautiful, albeit small, courtyard. The moon lit up the roses and the lilies. All of it was overgrown. Vines climbed the manor on all four sides, and a fountain stood in the middle, although it remained still and lifeless. It all looked as though no one had tended to it in years.

He made his way through the garden, following an already pressed passage in the grass. In some places Harry could feel stone beneath his bare feet, and he guessed that there may once have been a cobblestone path, but it had since been taken over by nature.

His short walk led to an apple tree in the far corner, and beyond that, another arched, wooden door. However, he didn't pass through it. Instead he seated himself beneath the tree. Here the grass was already laid flat, and a few apples were scattered at the base of the trunk.

Harry couldn't remember ever being anywhere so calm and silent. Even in Hogwarts there had been no gardens so wild and beautiful as this one. He could smell the roses and the apples, and a few scents that he couldn't identify. And if he lay back he could see the stars and and the moon in the cloudless sky. He closed his eyes, the grass brushing at his cheeks, indulging in the cool breeze, and, for the first time since Voldemort's downfall, felt completely and utterly at ease.

* * *

Harry entered the dining room many hours later and immediately felt awkward. The huge clock in his room had said it to be early; just seven AM, so he hadn't expected Malfoy to be up. And yet, the youngest Malfoy was already seated at the long wooden table, eating what looked like rice, but smelt somewhat like the garden Harry had found the previous night.

"Er," said Harry in announcement of his presence. Malfoy raised his eyes from the newspaper, which he had been reading while he ate, and looked momentarily startled, as though he had forgotten that Harry were staying there. For some reason, this annoyed Harry, and he frowned.

"Potter," said Malfoy with a small, curt, nod.

There was a rather long silence in which the boys regarded each other. Harry noticed that Malfoys hair was as perfect as ever, not a hair out of place, despite the fact that the sun was barely up. He was dressed, as usual, in expensive clothing, even though Harry doubted that he would be leaving the house or was expecting visitors. He then imagined how he must look, with his uncombed hair and baggy t-shirt.

_I should really get some new clothes, _he found himself thinking. _And a hair cut,_ he added. His hair had grown rather long during the time he had spent Horcrux hunting, and although he had hacked some of it off himself, his fringe still hung in his eyes. He must look a right mess next to Malfoy.

"What're you thinking?"

The question startled Harry. Not just the words, but the way Malfoy said them, as though genuinely curious.

"What's it to you?" Harry's reply was cold and sharp from practice. It was a habit that would be hard to break with Malfoy.

Malfoy suddenly looked away. "Nothing... never mind." His cheeks flushed, he continued with his breakfast.

Harry thought by now that he would be used to Malfoy surprising him, but he was learning that it was going to take a long time to adjust to staying with the Malfoys.

_Staying with the Malfoys_. The idea still sounded insane, and he was still at a loss as to why he was really there, but knew he wasn't going to get any answers from Malfoy. He would continue to demand answers from Narcissa when he saw her again.

He sat down at the table, opposite Malfoy and a seat to the right. They sat in silence, the only sound was the crinkle of the newspaper as Malfoy turned the page. Malfoy's spoon didn't clatter; he ate soundlessly.

"What are you reading?" asked Harry stonily, fed up of the silence. Malfoy raised his eyes questionably.

"What's it to you?" he mimicked, and Harry flushed.

"Seriously, Potter," Malfoy said as Harry bristled. "You ought to learn some manners. You are staying in _my_ house. You will respect me."

"I'm not here by choice," Harry reminded him.

"Would you rather be in the dungeons?"

Harry's flush deepened, and he stood up angrily.

"You couldn't get me in those Dungeons even if you called all your Death Eater pals to help," he snarled, and this time Malfoy was the one to blush. His eyes searched Harry, and Harry knew what was going through his head. Malfoy had no idea what had become of the Elder wand. For all he knew, Harry still had it.

It was at this moment that Narcissa chose to come crashing through the door. It looked as though she too were an early riser. She was putting on a Muggle coat, and her arms were laden with books.

"Draco dear, I'm going out, I-Oh!" she exclaimed, noticing the Harry's white knuckles and Malfoy's pink cheeks. "What's going on here?"

"Nothing," said Malfoy, glaring at Harry. Harry remained silent, but sat down again, returning the look.

"Well then, while I'm out, Draco, would you take Harry on a tour of the manor." It was not a question. Malfoy nodded stiffly.

"And get Harry some breakfast!" Narcissa snapped as she left the same way she came in, slamming the door the door behind her.

"Malfoy?" Harry started a few minutes later.

"What?"

"Why am I here?"

"I'll get you some breakfast," Malfoy replied, standing up.

"I said, why am I here?"

"Would you like bacon?"

Harry felt himself heat up again, angrily, and his voice rose.

"Malfoy."

"I'll get you some bacon."

"Damn you, Malfoy."

But Malfoy was already gone.

Harry sat and seethed for a few minutes, and began began tapping the table with his fingers. Soon bored of this, as he found he became bored quite easily these days, he noticed the newspaper which lay open on the table next to Malfoys rice. Harry pulled it over to himself and could tell immediately which article Malfoy had been reading.

It was on the second page, because the first was still taken over by stories of the war. There was a small picture of Lucius Malfoy, and the header, '_Death Eater in Azkaban still pleads not guilty_.' Harry read on.

_Lucius Malfoy, convicted Death Eater, was sentenced to Azkaban last week for life. War hero Ronald Weasley, a close friend of Harry Potter, was the one to write the ministry asking that this man was put behind bars, and the request was taken into effect immediately. Luna Lovegood, another hero of the war, backed up Weasley's request (read Lovegood's story on page 13). Malfoy was sent to Azkaban without trial._

_Both Lovegood and Weasley claimed to have been held prisoner in Malfoy's manor, both for different periods of time. They also stated that Malfoy participated in most of the Death Eater activities, and fought for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in the war. The ministry has confirmed Malfoy's absences from work, and shortly after the ministry received the letter, the Malfoy house was searched and a number of dark objects removed._

_Ministry official, Percy Weasley, brother of Ronald Weasley, was sent to Azkaban for official reasons that the Ministry would not disclose, and says that Malfoy continues to plead not guilty. _

_'He is already in a desperate state, and appears to be very ill' Weasley told us early this morning. Weasley says the newly appointed Azkaban Healers will be taking a look at Malfoy. 'We kept asking him how he felt, and he kept repeating the same thing. 'I'm not guilty. I want to see my family.'' _

_Malfoy's wife and son were questioned, but there is yet to be any evidence that either participated in the war or any Death Eater activities surrounding it. If any such proof is found, we are sure the ministry will not hesitate to reunite the two with Lucius behind bars._

"Don't you dare let my mother read that."

Harry looked up to find Malfoy standing over him, a menacing look in his eyes, and a snarl on his pale lips. Malfoy snatched the paper back and sat down, pushing Harry the promised plate of bacon, although Harry wasn't really hungry.

"Malfoy..."

"I don't have anything to say to you, so you might as well save your breath," Malfoy snapped.

Harry looked down at his own food. Normally such a retort, especially from Malfoy, wouldn't have silenced him. But, what he had just read made him feel uneasy. He hadn't realized that Ron had been the one to put Lucius behind bars. Ron hadn't breathed a word of it. Why not? Why had Ron kept that from him? Just like Hermione keeping Ginny's secret to herself. Harry felt his anger begin to rise. Couldn't he trust them any more? His two best friends? He slammed his fork angrily into his bacon.

"You're obviously not going to eat that," said Malfoy, nearly twenty minutes later. He had finished his own breakfast long before, and Harry had barely touched the bacon.

"I'm not hungry."

"Lets go then." Malfoy stood up, but Harry just looked confused.

"Where?"

Malfoy sighed. "I'm taking you on a tour around the manor." He turned and began to walk away, and Harry realized that he was meant to follow him. He was in half a mind not too, but knew that he hadn't covered even the first floor of the manor in his wanderings last night, and was curious to know what lay above.

He pushed the bacon away, not feeling guilty in the slightest for not finishing it, and followed the Slytherin out of the room.


	10. Jasmine

Malfoy had decided that they would start on the top floor, and work their way down. This suited Harry fine, and he trailed behind, not really caring much for all of the history that the manor held, or the dozens of near empty rooms that he was shown. Malfoy didn't look at him, and everything he said was in monotone, but for the occasional times that they came across something he thought really worth boasting about, and then his voice would take on a very smug air.

"And this," said Malfoy, smirking as he pushed open a set of wooden doors on the third floor, "is the _biggest_ Wizarding fiction library in the whole of Europe."

And it was, indeed, _another_ library. Harry had been informed that the Malfoy manor had a total of 6 libraries; One for scrolls, books and files on Wizarding history; one for spellbooks; one for other assorted non-fiction works; this one for fiction; and Lucius' personal library. Malfoy didn't mention what the sixth one contained and Harry assumed immediately that it was full of books on the Dark Arts.

"It's, uh... quite something," muttered Harry. Indeed, it was the smallest library of all he had seen that day, but it was impressive none the less. However, Harry had never been huge on fictional books and had little interest. "But, as much as I _love_ libraries..."

Malfoy glared at him. "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Potter. But then, I wouldn't expect you to understand it's value anyway, having spent so much time with the Weasels in their hovel of a home."

The venom was evident in his voice, although it wasn't needed to make Harry draw his wand; the words were enough. He knew he shouldn't have let something so trivial anger him so easily, but the idea of getting into a fight with Malfoy was, at the moment, much more appealing than letting himself get dragged into another library. The day had gone on very tediously, with very little conversation shared. Harry was almost glad to have an excuse to end it.

"Hell, Malfoy. I had enough of you being an _ass_ about Ron and his family at school. I'd rather be back with him than here with you." He stepped up to Malfoy, his wand inches away from the pale boys face, which seemed to have gone, if possible, even paler. Although, Harry would admit that that might just have been a figment of his imagination, formed out of his own pride. As if to prove this, Malfoy managed to keep his voice level enough to retort, and shot Harry a piercing glare.

"You can't be implying that their... their _house_, is better than mine?" he replied with a snort, still eying the wand, but his face quickly returning to it's usual cool and collected state, all shock over Harry's outburst gone.

"Thats exactly what I'm saying."

At this, Malfoy's face twisted into a snarl. "Are you insulting me, Potter?"

"I'm telling you lay off Ron."

"You have no right to order me to do anything," Malfoy hissed, stepping up to Harry. Malfoy was now so close that Harry could feel the other boy's breath on his lips, and could smell his cologne. The scent was pleasantly surprising, and was one that he recognized. Jasmine was Ginny's favorite incense, and her room always smelt of it. Harry let his wand arm fall to his side. He was sure that if it came to a fight they would most likely be using their fists; Malfoy would probably be too worried about the tapestries and paintings on the walls to use any spells..

"If you want me to stay here, and be civil, then you will _not_ talk about the Weasleys like that," said Harry through gritted teeth.

Malfoy pushed Harry hard against the wall, and Harry, taken by surprise, hit it with a painful 'thud'.

"What the hell does his house have that mine doesn't?"

Harry refrained from wincing as Malfoys nails bug into his forearm, and at the same time, from laughing at him.

"Oh, lets see..." he mocked thinking, determined not show any weakness. "Friends... _decent people_."

Harry nearly cringed, expecting a blow to the face, and was thoroughly surprised when Malfoy let go of him and stepped away. It happened so quickly that Harry nearly doubted that Malfoy had moved at all. He blinked, and Malfoy turned away, avoiding Harry's gaze. It seemed that, as quickly as the anger had come, it was now diminishing.

And, without a word, Malfoy began to walk away.

Harry stared after him, completely bemused. He didn't follow, but watched Malfoy's retreating figure until it was well gone round the corner at the end of the corridor. He stood there for a while, not because he thought that Malfoy would come back, but because he simply didn't know what else to do. Questions were forming in Harry's head, as they so often did, and within half an hour, again quite as usual, none of them had been answered. With a sigh, Harry turned around and left, the scent of Jasmine long gone.

* * *

"Mother, I don't think I can do this," said Draco later that evening. He sat on the end of Narcissa's bed, legs crossed and back straight. Narcissa sat propped up with some pillows, her eyes on a thick book which she held between manicured fingers.

"Do what, darling?"

"Be friends with him. With Potter."

Narcissa raised her eyes to Draco, her brow furrowed and her lips pursed. "And, why ever not?" she asked. Draco sighed, and looked out of the window.

"We have... conflicting interests." _To say the least_, Draco added grimly to himself.

"You both like Quidditch."

"It's hard to play Quidditch when the opposing team is _not allowed outside_."

"Don't take that tone with me," Narcissa snapped. "You know him better. Choose something he likes, and make yourself like it too." She said it as though it were simple. Draco refrained from snapping back.

"I don't know what he likes," he admitted instead. Besides from Quidditch and the Weasleys, he had no idea what Potter enjoyed.

"Well ask him, then."

"How, when we can't spend two minutes together without fighting?"

Narcissa slammed her book shut and glared up at Draco. "Don't you want your father out of prison? Is that it?" Her voice was beginning to rise, both in volume and pitch.

"Of course I do..." Draco muttered feebly, but Narcissa continued as though she hadn't heard.

"Don't you have any idea what it's like for me without him?" Her eyes began to brim with tear, but she continued to stare him down, and he shrank away from her cold blue eyes. "How lonely it is?"

"I never meant -"

"Have you no idea how hard it is running this house by myself?"

"I-"

"Do you know how much stress I've been under?"

"Mother-"

"Get out!" Narcissa began to sob, and she put her hands to her face. "Just go, Draco... please."

Draco rose to his feet silently. There was barely a crease in the bedspread where he had been sitting.

"Good night, Mother," he said quietly, and he backed out of the room, taking his leave.

**Chapter 11**

Over the following week Malfoy didn't bring up again his strange notion of him and Harry being friends. In fact, he and Harry spoke very little. They were both civil to one another, using their 'pleases' and 'thank yous' at the dinner table, but avoided conversation when they could and generally kept to themselves during the day. Harry spent most of his time in the courtyard he had discovered on his second night, sometimes taking a book from one of the libraries to read. Although he was becoming increasingly bored, and found himself beginning to wish that Malfoy would snap and start an argument with him.

Meanwhile, Narcissa had become increasingly bad tempered, for reasons Harry knew not, and could often be heard screaming at the House Elves, breaking things, slamming doors, and all the other activities that angry people tend to partake in. Harry put it down to the stress of running the estate by herself, and tried to ignore it, which wasn't as easy as you would think living in a 5 story building. Although she seemed to have exhausted herself recently, and the Manor had been quiet over the last two days, for which Harry was very thankful.

Outside the Malfoy Manor the Wizarding world was still in the same unorganized chaos that it had been since the end of Voldemort. Although the Ministry had begun to settle down a little since Kingsley being appointed as Minister for Magic, it still had a lot to do, and they seemed to be making it their top (and possibly only) priority to round up all the Death Eaters, who as Harry had found out from the Daily Prophet, had recently taken to causing mayhem in Muggle towns.

A recent article had announced the death of six Muggles in a mass killing a few days ago. It was as though the remaining Death Eaters were trying to prove that they could still thrive without their former master. At first this had surprised Harry. The Malfoys had been so joyous over Voldemort's downfall. But he reminded himself that a lot of the Death Eater's lives had revolved around Voldemort. Lucius and Narcissa had had their son, the careers and one another to love, while many of the Death Eaters had probably reserved their love only for Voldemort. It sickened Harry to think so, but he could imagine that the death of their master might have been heartbreaking. And for the others, the idea of becoming the next Dark Lord was probably very appealing. He could imagine that some of the Death Eaters were competing against one another for the title. This also wasn't a very comforting thought.

Todays Daily Prophet sat on the breakfast table, already open. Harry had taken to getting up late, when both the Malfoys had finished breakfast, so the kitchen was empty. He sat down and flipped the Prophet shut so that he could read the front page, and nearly choked on his coffee when he read the headline.

_Has Harry Potter taken up the Dark Arts?_

_Dorothy Wolf, a twelve year old Witch and her two Muggle parents were found dead in their home last night of the Killing Curse, presumed to be the work of Death Eaters. Three more Muggles vanished this week, and a further two were sent to St Mungos after being tortured extensively. Witches and Wizards all over the country are beginning to ask the same question; Where is Harry Potter? Dubbed Savior of the Wizarding World and known destroyer of You-Know-Who, many fans believed that Potter would have been more than capable of handling a few stray Death Eaters. Yet, Potter has made no move to help with the clean up, and as far as we know, has had no contact with the Ministry at all. It's possible that the Wolf family, not to mention many more Muggles and Muggleborns, could have been spared had Harry Potter taken immediate action. Despite You-Know-Who's death Muggleborns are still living in fear, people are still dying and Dark Wizards are still terrifying our streets. Has Harry Potter given up on us? _

_One of the most speculated rumors on Potters whereabouts is that he has now taken his place as head of the Death Eaters. Although some people who knew Potter well have claimed that it is unlikely, a few have admitted that it is possible. "He did have a very short temper," an anonymous young woman who had shared classes with Potter in their years at Hogwarts, informed us. "And he was very good at Defense Against the Dark Arts, which we all know needs at least a mild understanding of the Dark Arts." We all know that Potter is a very powerful Wizard and that if he chooses to take over from where You-Know-Who left off there will be catastrophic results. _

The article went on, continuing over on the second page. There were also half a dozen animated pictures of him at his worst, shouting at people, casting angry spells and curses. He couldn't imagine when the pictures had been taken, although the tapestry behind him in one of the photos hinted at him being in the Gryffindor common room. He imagined that the fierce expression on his face had been from nothing more than a tricky Potions question, but would admit that it did look somewhat lethal once captured on paper, from that angle.

He swore bitterly and banged his fist of the table, and his mug, which had been sitting dangerously close to the edge, toppled off with a resounding 'smash'. His jeans were flecked with coffee.

"So, you found the Prophet then?" Harry recognized Malfoy's drawling voice before he saw his face. Malfoy had just entered the kitchen with a green apple in hand, and was watching Harry with amused eyes.

"I can see where they're coming from," said Draco, "you do have a _horrific_ temper, but I'm afraid anyone who thinks you could rule the Death Eaters must be mad. You simply don't have the intelligence." Harry rewarded him with a glare.

"So, are you going to be the Gryffindor that you are and beg me to let you go and save all the Muggles?" Malfoy sneered, although his eyes still held that unusual look of interest.

Harry didn't need to think before answering. "No," he said simply, pushing away the paper.

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow. "That's very unlike you. There's no glamor in ignoring it, and we all know how much you love being the center of attention."

Harry bristled. "You don't know anything about me."

"Really? I was under the impression that you were Harry Potter, whose entire life and being is so famous that it's featured in every magazine and paper in the Wizarding World. But do tell, have you lost interest in being Witch Weekly's teenage heartthrob, or are you afraid of being arrested under suspicion of being a Death Eater?"

"I'm just one person. If the Ministry Aurors can't handle the Death Eaters by themselves, what am I supposed to do?"

"Of course, because the Dark Lord is _nothing_ compared to a few armature Death Eaters," said Malfoy sarcastically.

Harry was beginning to wonder _how _he could possibly have missed Malfoy's taunting over the previous week, and was quite ready for Malfoy to go back to being quiet and sulky. Or even better, Malfoy trying to be his friend.

"It took me over a year to defeat Voldemort. And I had help. I'm no more immune to Advada Kedavra than you are."

"So you're scared?"

"Look, Malfoy, are you trying to get me to leave? Because if you are, I'm more than happy to pack my bags. I know that you must have some plan for me being here, I'm not so stupid that I couldn't figure that one out. If somethings gone wrong, and you no longer have a use for me, _please _don't hesitate to send me off."

Malfoy's eyes had by now lost their spark, and his face was completely blank. "You're not leaving."

"Then shod off."

"I won't be sent from my own kitchen by you, Potter."

"Well, as far as I can tell, you have no need to be here, unless being a git to me is on your new morning schedule."

"I actually came here to tell you something."

Harry couldn't help from looking surprised, but covered it up quickly with a scowl.

"You could have gotten to the point earlier."

"But, it's so much more fun taunting you."

"Just tell me whatever you have to tell me, Malfoy." Malfoy was silent, although his face was composed. Harry wondered if he was trying to think of the best way to tell him whatever it was. Was it really something that big?

"My mother's ill," said Malfoy finally. His face now strongly resembled his fathers. A complete mask.

"So, send her to St Mungos," Harry snapped..

"They won't take her." The words were spoken so quietly that had Harry not seen his lips move, he may have thought them never spoken.

"And why am I supposed to care?" He really didn't think that Malfoy deserved his pity right now, and didn't regret the venom in his voice. Something flashed across Malfoy's face, and the mask fell away and was replaced with a snarl.

"I didn't think you could help anyway," Malfoy snapped angrily, before turning heel and leaving the room swiftly. Harry had already looked away, fuming. _How dare he accuse me of being frightened?_ He thought, getting up and taking out his wand to clean up the spilled coffee. _I've done more than he ever has._

Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his left foot, and looking down he realized that he had trodden on a piece of broken china. His swear words resounded in the tall room. Frustrated and angry, he kicked at the chair, which didn't help with the sore foot at all, and caused him to go into another outburst, reciting all the Muggle curses he could think of.

Merlin, he hated Sundays.


	11. Harry Potter: Head Death Eater?

Over the following week Malfoy didn't bring up again his strange notion of him and Harry being friends. In fact, he and Harry spoke very little. They were both civil to one another, using their 'pleases' and 'thank yous' at the dinner table, but avoided conversation when they could and generally kept to themselves during the day. Harry spent most of his time in the courtyard he had discovered on his second night, sometimes taking a book from one of the libraries to read. Although he was becoming increasingly bored, and found himself beginning to wish that Malfoy would snap and start an argument with him.

Meanwhile, Narcissa had become increasingly bad tempered, for reasons Harry knew not, and could often be heard screaming at the House Elves, breaking things, slamming doors, and all the other activities that angry people tend to partake in. Harry put it down to the stress of running the estate by herself, and tried to ignore it, which wasn't as easy as you would think living in a 5 story building. Although she seemed to have exhausted herself recently, and the Manor had been quiet over the last two days, for which Harry was very thankful.

Outside the Malfoy Manor the Wizarding world was still in the same unorganized chaos that it had been since the end of Voldemort. Although the Ministry had begun to settle down a little since Kingsley being appointed as Minister for Magic, it still had a lot to do, and they seemed to be making it their top (and possibly only) priority to round up all the Death Eaters, who as Harry had found out from the Daily Prophet, had recently taken to causing mayhem in Muggle towns.

A recent article had announced the death of six Muggles in a mass killing a few days ago. It was as though the remaining Death Eaters were trying to prove that they could still thrive without their former master. At first this had surprised Harry. The Malfoys had been so joyous over Voldemort's downfall. But he reminded himself that a lot of the Death Eater's lives had revolved around Voldemort. Lucius and Narcissa had had their son, the careers and one another to love, while many of the Death Eaters had probably reserved their love only for Voldemort. It sickened Harry to think so, but he could imagine that the death of their master might have been heartbreaking. And for the others, the idea of becoming the next Dark Lord was probably very appealing. He could imagine that some of the Death Eaters were competing against one another for the title. This also wasn't a very comforting thought.

Todays Daily Prophet sat on the breakfast table, already open. Harry had taken to getting up late, when both the Malfoys had finished breakfast, so the kitchen was empty. He sat down and flipped the Prophet shut so that he could read the front page, and nearly choked on his coffee when he read the headline.

_Has Harry Potter taken up the Dark Arts?_

_Dorothy Wolf, a twelve year old Witch and her two Muggle parents were found dead in their home last night of the Killing Curse, presumed to be the work of Death Eaters. Three more Muggles vanished this week, and a further two were sent to St Mungos after being tortured extensively. Witches and Wizards all over the country are beginning to ask the same question; Where is Harry Potter? Dubbed Savior of the Wizarding World and known destroyer of You-Know-Who, many fans believed that Potter would have been more than capable of handling a few stray Death Eaters. Yet, Potter has made no move to help with the clean up, and as far as we know, has had no contact with the Ministry at all. It's possible that the Wolf family, not to mention many more Muggles and Muggleborns, could have been spared had Harry Potter taken immediate action. Despite You-Know-Who's death Muggleborns are still living in fear, people are still dying and Dark Wizards are still terrifying our streets. Has Harry Potter given up on us? _

_One of the most speculated rumors on Potters whereabouts is that he has now taken his place as head of the Death Eaters. Although some people who knew Potter well have claimed that it is unlikely, a few have admitted that it is possible. "He did have a very short temper," an anonymous young woman who had shared classes with Potter in their years at Hogwarts, informed us. "And he was very good at Defense Against the Dark Arts, which we all know needs at least a mild understanding of the Dark Arts." We all know that Potter is a very powerful Wizard and that if he chooses to take over from where You-Know-Who left off there will be catastrophic results. _

The article went on, continuing over on the second page. There were also half a dozen animated pictures of him at his worst, shouting at people, casting angry spells and curses. He couldn't imagine when the pictures had been taken, although the tapestry behind him in one of the photos hinted at him being in the Gryffindor common room. He imagined that the fierce expression on his face had been from nothing more than a tricky Potions question, but would admit that it did look somewhat lethal once captured on paper, from that angle.

He swore bitterly and banged his fist of the table, and his mug, which had been sitting dangerously close to the edge, toppled off with a resounding 'smash'. His jeans were flecked with coffee.

"So, you found the Prophet then?" Harry recognized Malfoy's drawling voice before he saw his face. Malfoy had just entered the kitchen with a green apple in hand, and was watching Harry with amused eyes.

"I can see where they're coming from," said Draco, "you do have a _horrific_ temper, but I'm afraid anyone who thinks you could rule the Death Eaters must be mad. You simply don't have the intelligence." Harry rewarded him with a glare.

"So, are you going to be the Gryffindor that you are and beg me to let you go and save all the Muggles?" Malfoy sneered, although his eyes still held that unusual look of interest.

Harry didn't need to think before answering. "No," he said simply, pushing away the paper.

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow. "That's very unlike you. There's no glamor in ignoring it, and we all know how much you love being the center of attention."

Harry bristled. "You don't know anything about me."

"Really? I was under the impression that you were Harry Potter, whose entire life and being is so famous that it's featured in every magazine and paper in the Wizarding World. But do tell, have you lost interest in being Witch Weekly's teenage heartthrob, or are you afraid of being arrested under suspicion of being a Death Eater?"

"I'm just one person. If the Ministry Aurors can't handle the Death Eaters by themselves, what am I supposed to do?"

"Of course, because the Dark Lord is _nothing_ compared to a few armature Death Eaters," said Malfoy sarcastically.

Harry was beginning to wonder _how _he could possibly have missed Malfoy's taunting over the previous week, and was quite ready for Malfoy to go back to being quiet and sulky. Or even better, Malfoy trying to be his friend.

"It took me over a year to defeat Voldemort. And I had help. I'm no more immune to Advada Kedavra than you are."

"So you're scared?"

"Look, Malfoy, are you trying to get me to leave? Because if you are, I'm more than happy to pack my bags. I know that you must have some plan for me being here, I'm not so stupid that I couldn't figure that one out. If somethings gone wrong, and you no longer have a use for me, _please _don't hesitate to send me off."

Malfoy's eyes had by now lost their spark, and his face was completely blank. "You're not leaving."

"Then shod off."

"I won't be sent from my own kitchen by you, Potter."

"Well, as far as I can tell, you have no need to be here, unless being a git to me is on your new morning schedule."

"I actually came here to tell you something."

Harry couldn't help from looking surprised, but covered it up quickly with a scowl.

"You could have gotten to the point earlier."

"But, it's so much more fun taunting you."

"Just tell me whatever you have to tell me, Malfoy." Malfoy was silent, although his face was composed. Harry wondered if he was trying to think of the best way to tell him whatever it was. Was it really something that big?

"My mother's ill," said Malfoy finally. His face now strongly resembled his fathers. A complete mask.

"So, send her to St Mungos," Harry snapped..

"They won't take her." The words were spoken so quietly that had Harry not seen his lips move, he may have thought them never spoken.

"And why am I supposed to care?" He really didn't think that Malfoy deserved his pity right now, and didn't regret the venom in his voice. Something flashed across Malfoy's face, and the mask fell away and was replaced with a snarl.

"I didn't think you could help anyway," Malfoy snapped angrily, before turning heel and leaving the room swiftly. Harry had already looked away, fuming. _How dare he accuse me of being frightened?_ He thought, getting up and taking out his wand to clean up the spilled coffee. _I've done more than he ever has._

Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his left foot, and looking down he realized that he had trodden on a piece of broken china. His swear words resounded in the tall room. Frustrated and angry, he kicked at the chair, which didn't help with the sore foot at all, and caused him to go into another outburst, reciting all the Muggle curses he could think of.

Merlin, he hated Sundays.

**Chapter 12**

Harry usually spent most of his evenings in the courtyard, and sometimes even the entire night. But recently he had avoided it. Of late, when he was there, he had had the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching him. Tonight, however, he couldn't care less. It was nice to get some fresh air and he had found a patch of overgrown Jasmine near the fountain. He wasn't entirely sure why he liked the smell so much, or the pale, beautiful heads of the flowers. He thought that they reminded him of something, although he couldn't correctly remember what. Still, he liked to rub them in his fingers and surround himself in the scent. Where he was sitting now, in a little burrow surrounded by the plants, he couldn't see the fountain or the tree, and could barely even make out the walls of the house through the thick tangle of bush and weeds. When he lay back, comfortable in the thick grass, he could see nothing but the cloudless night sky, flecked with stars. Beneath him, his shirt cushioned the ground – it was a warm night and there was no one around to see him without it.

Harry hadn't seen Draco at all that day, or his mother. He hadn't heard or seen anyone, not even a house elf, since his and Draco's argument in the kitchen that morning. He sighed softly, and wondered for the first time if he had been too harsh with Draco. How sick _was_ Narcissa? How long would it be before she was up and about again?

And then there was the issue from the Prophet. The headline swam before his eyes - _Has Harry Potter taken up the Dark Arts?_ - and he blinked it away with a scowl. After all he had done for the Wizarding community, they still found reason to slander his name.

"How could they possibly think..." he mumbled aloud, trailing off. The conflict had been internal, but damaging – from feeling angry to guilty, depressed to afraid, he had hardly spent a second not troubling over it. Was it his duty? Of course not. Could he make a difference? Not likely. And yet, that didn't explain the constant, gnawing of guilt and worry in his chest.

He tried to think of something else, but every image that he pictured turned into the dark mark above a Muggle's house; every word into quotes from the Prophet. He tried remembering Quidditch, to no avail. Bludgers kept turning into the snarling heads of Death Eaters, wands at the throats of the innocent. He tried imagining what Auror training would be like – assuming he ever left Malfoy Manor – but even then, the Death Eaters were always present.

And then, finally, his mind struck something that he was genuinely interested in – at least, enough to distract him. It was something that he had been avoiding thinking about lately, but now the thought seemed more than appealing. He closed his eyes, revealing fiery red hair and an intelligent, knowing smile in a freckled but pretty face. Ginny Weasley. What would she be up too now? It wasn't an entirely happy thought, but it was comforting to have something new to dwell on. He recalled the date from the Prophet – she'd be at school now, and far away from that scheming, mind twisting Muggle.

Yes, thought Harry, that must have been it. Of course, Muggles couldn't use magic, but they had their own ways of deceiving people. The thought of Robin deceiving Ginny made Harry smile. Not because he wanted to see Ginny get hurt, but because in his recent loneliness he had begun to realize how much he missed her. If Robin wasn't who Ginny thought he was then perhaps they wouldn't be together long, and Harry may have a second chance. His smile froze in place. But would _she_ be the same?

Something sounded nearby – the cracking of a twig and the shuffling through the grass. Uneven breathing, heavy then light, then heavy again. Fast, and then slow. A sniffle, a stumble, followed shortly by a gasp. Harry didn't have time to register any of this before something hard scuffed against his side, and something tall and angled topped over him and hit the ground hard.

There wasn't any swearing, or scrambling of feet. No rude accusations or snide remarks. A pair of bare ankles and legs in jeans, uneven over Harry's stomach, led to the torso of Draco Malfoy. He held himself up with one arm, crushing some white flowers, the rest of his weight was on his knees in the dirt. His eyes were wide and mouth unbreathing as he processed what had just happened.

Harry was just as slow in acting. What just happened? Who is this? How did Malfoy get here? But then, of course, Harry remembered that this _was_ Malfoy's home. He had been silly to think that Malfoy hadn't known about the unkempt courtyard. But even so – why was Malfoy here, when he should be in bed?

The small weight of Malfoy's feet shifted as they slid off of Harry as Malfoy, finally reacting, cursed and twisted, pulling himself into a crouch and taking a deep breath. Harry sat up and pulled his own legs into his chest. Whatever had brought Malfoy here was not going to make him leave – not when he had just started to take his mind from the growing fear of the unknown.

"Potter," accused Malfoy. The tone surprised Harry – it wasn't an angry accusation. Malfoy sounded hurt, like Harry was his closest friend and had betrayed him past forgiveness. That tone, under the present circumstances, made no sense what so ever.

It was then that Harry noticed the glistening of Malfoy's slightly pink cheeks and his trembling lips as he tried to pull himself together. His fringe hung almost in his eyes, but was parted enough for Harry to see the moon reflected in a tear, caught in his golden, long lashes. Or was it a star? He caught himself staring, and shut his mouth. Malfoy had stopped shaking, and his pale lips were parted similarly, and his eyes, too, were on Harry. There was an unusual, appealing look to them. The small hollow in the flowers suddenly felt much smaller than it really was. Harry, confused, forced himself to look away.

"It wasn't my fault," he snapped, unable to think of a better way to respond. What was with Malfoy and getting emotional all the time? He had been so confusing since the war. Harry craved to know what was going on inside his head. "What kind of idiot walks _through_ the flowerbeds of a garden in the middle of the night?" He waited for Malfoy to snap back, and tell him that it was far more idiotic to be lying in said flower beds at said time. He'd probably also mention something regarding this being not much of a garden and even less of a flowerbed.

"I have to go," said Malfoy coldly. He averted his eyes and got to his feet, quite abruptly, and staggered forward. It was a clumsy act, not at all like the Draco Malfoy most people were accustomed too. Harry knew that really, after all of Malfoy's emotional outbursts in the past months, he should be well used to Malfoy surprising him with a few tears and a less than enthusiastic desire to insult him. But, it still came as a shock to see Malfoy in anyway similar to how he had looked at the Lake. That night seemed lifetimes ago, now.

For some unexplained reason, Harry reached up and grabbed Malfoy's hand. Even as he did it, he couldn't understand why. If anyone asked him later, he could have supplied a hundred excuses, but right now, he was at a loss.

Malfoy stood there, for a moment, looking down at Harry, who still sat topless in the grass. He then dropped his gaze to their hands, and Harry too drew to them his eyes. Malfoy's hand was warm and smooth in Harry's, but not soft. It was devoid of all fat, but felt to Harry like silk. He wanted to trail his fingers down his palm, to rub that smoothness against his cheek. And it felt so fragile! Harry dared not hold it too tight, or he might break it. Harry's hand was larger, darker, and rougher. It was his own hand that evoked some kind of unexplained anger. He tightened his grip, feeling Malfoy stiffen, and hauled him back to ground. Malfoy tripped again, and stumbled, and fell into the Jasmine next to Harry, narrowly missing him.

"What the hell, Potter?" mumbled Malfoy, but he didn't sound angry. Harry relinquished Malfoy's hand, but only so that he could slip his fingers between his and hold it in a different manor. So that he couldn't get away, he told himself. The silkiness of the skin sent an unusual shiver up his spin. He couldn't help but think that there was something appealing, something beautiful, in the way that their fingers were laced together.

"I want to know what's wrong." Harry wrinkled his nose. That hadn't come out sounding nearly as angry as he intended. He cleared his throat. "You've been a depressing, over emotional git recently, and I want to know why." There, that sounded much more like it should when talking to Malfoy. Harry smiled. And then he giggled. And then felt like a right idiot for doing so. What was wrong with him?

"Potter, I want to go. Let go of me," said Malfoy coldly, with an attempt to tug his hand free, but Harry gripped it more tightly.

"No," Harry said stubbornly. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Geeze, Potter, I thought you wanted to be an Auror, not a bloody councilor," said Malfoy, brushing his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. There was a moment of awkward silence. "I thought you had stopped coming here."

"_You _were spying on me!"

"I was not spying!" exclaimed Malfoy, indignant. "I just wanted my garden back, is all."

"You have an entire garden outside to explore," said Harry, pouting. "Why do you like this one any better?"

Malfoy scowled, and paused before replying. "For the same reason you do, I suppose."

"_I _prefer this garden because it's the only one that I'm actually allowed in," said Harry, a little irritated, but too curious to let Malfoy see it and risk starting a fight. Malfoy rolled his eyes and lay back, making himself comfortable. A small smile played on his lips, or a small smirk. Harry narrowed his eyes, instantly suspicious, but Malfoy didn't say anything remotely dangerous.

"I like how wild it is. All of – all of mother's gardens are so neat and well kept." At the mention of his mother, the smirk faded, and was replaced with a frown. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Harry frowned to match Malfoy – it was no wonder so many people wanted to learn occlumency these days with people like Malfoy around.

"I really don't understand you, Malfoy," said Harry, looking down at him and cocking his head. Malfoy had his eyes shut and was toying with a flower of Jasmine that he had picked in his spare hand.

"Not many people do," said Malfoy, with a hint of satisfaction.

Harry lent back, although he didn't lie back – there just wasn't enough space to do so comfortably with Malfoy. Holding his hand felt awkward enough, now, but he had too much pride to let it go. He couldn't even remember why he was holding it in the first place, but to remove his fingers from Malfoy's would just draw more attention to it. Absurdly, he felt his cheeks heating up, and he scrabbled around for more conversation.

"It's a nice...sky. Er, evening. Thing." Harry cleared his throat, and blushed further. He suddenly wished that it was darker.

Malfoy snorted. "Yes, Potter. It's a nice night."

"So," said Harry, recovering. "How's your mother?"

"It's not like you care," said Malfoy, instantly bittering. Harry felt the wave of dejavu. He sighed, and leaned into Malfoy slightly.

"Why do you do this, Malfoy? Why do you hide behind your arguments and your snide remarks? I know that you can be a decent person. I've seen it." He recalled the few times he had seen Malfoy at his worst – or, depending how you looked at it, at his best – usually in tears or in another position of weakness. Did he have to be thoroughly upset to be nice? What he said next was completely on the spot and unplanned. "I know that I laughed when you wanted to be friends, but I think it could work, if you stopped being so defensive."

"Touching, Potter," Malfoy drawled. Harry bristled. Here he was, saying something this embarrassing, when he wasn't even sure if he believed it, and Malfoy _had_ to be sarcastic.

"See, you're doing it now! You're refusing to let me understand you. You hide yourself behind sarcasm and wit. How am I supposed to get to know you, if you won't let me!"

Malfoy opened his eyes, and looked at Harry. His face was straight, but even Harry, with his 'emotional range of a teaspoon', could read the curiosity in his eyes.

"What would you like to know?" Malfoy asked slowly.

"Why are you upset? Is your mother okay?" said Harry quickly, before Malfoy had time to change his mind.

"I'm.. she's fine. She'll be fine." Malfoy sounded more like he was trying to convince himself, than Harry.

"What's wrong with her?" asked Harry, but Malfoy just shrugged.

"I'd rather not talk about it, if it's all the same to you," he said.

"Oh, right. Well, er... have you heard from your father lately?" Harry wasn't sure if people in Azkaban were allowed to send letters.

"Hell, Potter. I'm giving you free reign to ask anything about me that you'd like, and all you can think to ask is after my parents? You're not taking advantage of the situation nearly as much as I expected too."

Harry looked confused. "Do you _want_ me to take advantage of you?"

Malfoy smiled, and shut his eyes again, and Harry ground his teeth as he wondered what Malfoy was thinking. The silence stretched, until Malfoy opened his eyes again.

"Isn't there anything you'd like to know, Potter? After all, it was _you_ complaining. Or was that all talk?"

"Fine. Um, what's your favorite color?"

Malfoy snorted. "Of _all_ the questions? And I thought it was obvious. Green, Potter."

"Right. Um. Favorite book?"

"As Meat Loves Salt," replied Malfoy, a dark smile stretching over his lips.

"Never heard of it," said Harry.

"Of course you wouldn't have. It's a Muggle book." Malfoy flickered his eyes up to Harry's face. The gray daring him to comment, daring him to laugh. Harry couldn't but marvel at the strangeness of it – Harry, raised by Muggles, had never read a Muggle fiction in his life. Yet, Malfoy, who despised Muggles, was a fan of a Muggle book, which was most likely about Muggles.

"Speechless, Potter? It suits you." Malfoy paused.

"What's it about?" Harry asked tentatively. The title made him think of a romance, but he couldn't picture Malfoy reading anything like that. Malfoy's smirk widened.

"I wouldn't want to spoil it for you. But you remind me of one of the characters," Malfoy's voice turned soft, and he looked away. "His name is Jacob. He has a dreadful temper."

There was something in Malfoy's eyes as he spoke that Harry wasn't sure he liked, but he felt a sudden desire to read the book, if only to find out exactly what Malfoy thought of him. But then, boldly, he decided that he didn't need to read a book to find out what Malfoy thought of him. After all, he could ask anything, right? Harry noticed that his palm was a little damp. Was it because of the extra heat of Malfoy's, or because he was nervous? Or was it Malfoy's palm that was sweaty? Was Malfoy nervous?

"Malfoy," said Harry slowly. "What do you think of me?"

For just a second, Malfoy's eyes widened and he opened his mouth – undoubtedly to say something rude – before closing it again and composing his face into the mask of an expression that Harry hated. He appeared to think for a while, propping himself up on one elbow, better to look at Harry. He trailed his eyes over Harry's bare chest, before resting them on his face. Absently, he licked his lips.

"I think," said Malfoy softly, "that you're arrogant and loud. You're short, and you're temper isn't very attractive either. Your hair is messy, and needs a cut. Your eyebrows are too thick, and your skin is too dark. And you have an unhealthy obsession with saving people. But," and here Malfoy paused for long enough for Harry to digest it, as though waiting for Harry to snap back. Or perhaps he was steeling himself? He certainly looked uncertain. But, of course, his 'but' had frozen Harry with curiosity. But what? Harry wanted to know.

"But what?" Harry whispered.

"You have the sexiest eyes that I've ever seen."

Harry didn't get a chance to reply before Malfoy's lips were pressed against his. At what point Malfoy had gotten to his knees, and Harry had taken his position on the ground, Harry couldn't remember, but somehow Malfoy was over him with his lips, soft but hungry, against his.

A second passed, in which Harry did nothing to respond. For just a second he was completely paralyzed in shock, before utter rage - or was it panic? - enveloped him. He lifted his free hand, balled into a fist, and sent it colliding with Malfoy's head. Malfoy's lips tore from his, and Harry felt a confusing regret, before ripping his hand free and jumping to his feet.

The two boys looked at each other, both with their mouths hanging open and eyes wide in surprise. All of Malfoy's composure was gone, and his look of shock and fear mirrored Harry's. Neither spoke, but both stared, breathing heavier than they should have been. Neither appeared to be able to move, until suddenly, an owl hooted, reminding them both of time and space. Stumbling, Harry turned and ran, leaving Malfoy alone, sprawled in the garden.


	12. A Friendship, or Something More?

Harry usually spent most of his evenings in the courtyard, and sometimes even the entire night. But recently he had avoided it. Of late, when he was there, he had had the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching him. Tonight, however, he couldn't care less. It was nice to get some fresh air and he had found a patch of overgrown Jasmine near the fountain. He wasn't entirely sure why he liked the smell so much, or the pale, beautiful heads of the flowers. He thought that they reminded him of something, although he couldn't correctly remember what. Still, he liked to rub them in his fingers and surround himself in the scent. Where he was sitting now, in a little burrow surrounded by the plants, he couldn't see the fountain or the tree, and could barely even make out the walls of the house through the thick tangle of bush and weeds. When he lay back, comfortable in the thick grass, he could see nothing but the cloudless night sky, flecked with stars. Beneath him, his shirt cushioned the ground – it was a warm night and there was no one around to see him without it.

Harry hadn't seen Draco at all that day, or his mother. He hadn't heard or seen anyone, not even a house elf, since his and Draco's argument in the kitchen that morning. He sighed softly, and wondered for the first time if he had been too harsh with Draco. How sick _was_ Narcissa? How long would it be before she was up and about again?

And then there was the issue from the Prophet. The headline swam before his eyes - _Has Harry Potter taken up the Dark Arts?_ - and he blinked it away with a scowl. After all he had done for the Wizarding community, they still found reason to slander his name.

"How could they possibly think..." he mumbled aloud, trailing off. The conflict had been internal, but damaging – from feeling angry to guilty, depressed to afraid, he had hardly spent a second not troubling over it. Was it his duty? Of course not. Could he make a difference? Not likely. And yet, that didn't explain the constant, gnawing of guilt and worry in his chest.

He tried to think of something else, but every image that he pictured turned into the dark mark above a Muggle's house; every word into quotes from the Prophet. He tried remembering Quidditch, to no avail. Bludgers kept turning into the snarling heads of Death Eaters, wands at the throats of the innocent. He tried imagining what Auror training would be like – assuming he ever left Malfoy Manor – but even then, the Death Eaters were always present.

And then, finally, his mind struck something that he was genuinely interested in – at least, enough to distract him. It was something that he had been avoiding thinking about lately, but now the thought seemed more than appealing. He closed his eyes, revealing fiery red hair and an intelligent, knowing smile in a freckled but pretty face. Ginny Weasley. What would she be up too now? It wasn't an entirely happy thought, but it was comforting to have something new to dwell on. He recalled the date from the Prophet – she'd be at school now, and far away from that scheming, mind twisting Muggle.

Yes, thought Harry, that must have been it. Of course, Muggles couldn't use magic, but they had their own ways of deceiving people. The thought of Robin deceiving Ginny made Harry smile. Not because he wanted to see Ginny get hurt, but because in his recent loneliness he had begun to realize how much he missed her. If Robin wasn't who Ginny thought he was then perhaps they wouldn't be together long, and Harry may have a second chance. His smile froze in place. But would _she_ be the same?

Something sounded nearby – the cracking of a twig and the shuffling through the grass. Uneven breathing, heavy then light, then heavy again. Fast, and then slow. A sniffle, a stumble, followed shortly by a gasp. Harry didn't have time to register any of this before something hard scuffed against his side, and something tall and angled topped over him and hit the ground hard.

There wasn't any swearing, or scrambling of feet. No rude accusations or snide remarks. A pair of bare ankles and legs in jeans, uneven over Harry's stomach, led to the torso of Draco Malfoy. He held himself up with one arm, crushing some white flowers, the rest of his weight was on his knees in the dirt. His eyes were wide and mouth unbreathing as he processed what had just happened.

Harry was just as slow in acting. What just happened? Who is this? How did Malfoy get here? But then, of course, Harry remembered that this _was_ Malfoy's home. He had been silly to think that Malfoy hadn't known about the unkempt courtyard. But even so – why was Malfoy here, when he should be in bed?

The small weight of Malfoy's feet shifted as they slid off of Harry as Malfoy, finally reacting, cursed and twisted, pulling himself into a crouch and taking a deep breath. Harry sat up and pulled his own legs into his chest. Whatever had brought Malfoy here was not going to make him leave – not when he had just started to take his mind from the growing fear of the unknown.

"Potter," accused Malfoy. The tone surprised Harry – it wasn't an angry accusation. Malfoy sounded hurt, like Harry was his closest friend and had betrayed him past forgiveness. That tone, under the present circumstances, made no sense what so ever.

It was then that Harry noticed the glistening of Malfoy's slightly pink cheeks and his trembling lips as he tried to pull himself together. His fringe hung almost in his eyes, but was parted enough for Harry to see the moon reflected in a tear, caught in his golden, long lashes. Or was it a star? He caught himself staring, and shut his mouth. Malfoy had stopped shaking, and his pale lips were parted similarly, and his eyes, too, were on Harry. There was an unusual, appealing look to them. The small hollow in the flowers suddenly felt much smaller than it really was. Harry, confused, forced himself to look away.

"It wasn't my fault," he snapped, unable to think of a better way to respond. What was with Malfoy and getting emotional all the time? He had been so confusing since the war. Harry craved to know what was going on inside his head. "What kind of idiot walks _through_ the flowerbeds of a garden in the middle of the night?" He waited for Malfoy to snap back, and tell him that it was far more idiotic to be lying in said flower beds at said time. He'd probably also mention something regarding this being not much of a garden and even less of a flowerbed.

"I have to go," said Malfoy coldly. He averted his eyes and got to his feet, quite abruptly, and staggered forward. It was a clumsy act, not at all like the Draco Malfoy most people were accustomed too. Harry knew that really, after all of Malfoy's emotional outbursts in the past months, he should be well used to Malfoy surprising him with a few tears and a less than enthusiastic desire to insult him. But, it still came as a shock to see Malfoy in anyway similar to how he had looked at the Lake. That night seemed lifetimes ago, now.

For some unexplained reason, Harry reached up and grabbed Malfoy's hand. Even as he did it, he couldn't understand why. If anyone asked him later, he could have supplied a hundred excuses, but right now, he was at a loss.

Malfoy stood there, for a moment, looking down at Harry, who still sat topless in the grass. He then dropped his gaze to their hands, and Harry too drew to them his eyes. Malfoy's hand was warm and smooth in Harry's, but not soft. It was devoid of all fat, but felt to Harry like silk. He wanted to trail his fingers down his palm, to rub that smoothness against his cheek. And it felt so fragile! Harry dared not hold it too tight, or he might break it. Harry's hand was larger, darker, and rougher. It was his own hand that evoked some kind of unexplained anger. He tightened his grip, feeling Malfoy stiffen, and hauled him back to ground. Malfoy tripped again, and stumbled, and fell into the Jasmine next to Harry, narrowly missing him.

"What the hell, Potter?" mumbled Malfoy, but he didn't sound angry. Harry relinquished Malfoy's hand, but only so that he could slip his fingers between his and hold it in a different manor. So that he couldn't get away, he told himself. The silkiness of the skin sent an unusual shiver up his spin. He couldn't help but think that there was something appealing, something beautiful, in the way that their fingers were laced together.

"I want to know what's wrong." Harry wrinkled his nose. That hadn't come out sounding nearly as angry as he intended. He cleared his throat. "You've been a depressing, over emotional git recently, and I want to know why." There, that sounded much more like it should when talking to Malfoy. Harry smiled. And then he giggled. And then felt like a right idiot for doing so. What was wrong with him?

"Potter, I want to go. Let go of me," said Malfoy coldly, with an attempt to tug his hand free, but Harry gripped it more tightly.

"No," Harry said stubbornly. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Geeze, Potter, I thought you wanted to be an Auror, not a bloody councilor," said Malfoy, brushing his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. There was a moment of awkward silence. "I thought you had stopped coming here."

"_You _were spying on me!"

"I was not spying!" exclaimed Malfoy, indignant. "I just wanted my garden back, is all."

"You have an entire garden outside to explore," said Harry, pouting. "Why do you like this one any better?"

Malfoy scowled, and paused before replying. "For the same reason you do, I suppose."

"_I _prefer this garden because it's the only one that I'm actually allowed in," said Harry, a little irritated, but too curious to let Malfoy see it and risk starting a fight. Malfoy rolled his eyes and lay back, making himself comfortable. A small smile played on his lips, or a small smirk. Harry narrowed his eyes, instantly suspicious, but Malfoy didn't say anything remotely dangerous.

"I like how wild it is. All of – all of mother's gardens are so neat and well kept." At the mention of his mother, the smirk faded, and was replaced with a frown. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Harry frowned to match Malfoy – it was no wonder so many people wanted to learn occlumency these days with people like Malfoy around.

"I really don't understand you, Malfoy," said Harry, looking down at him and cocking his head. Malfoy had his eyes shut and was toying with a flower of Jasmine that he had picked in his spare hand.

"Not many people do," said Malfoy, with a hint of satisfaction.

Harry lent back, although he didn't lie back – there just wasn't enough space to do so comfortably with Malfoy. Holding his hand felt awkward enough, now, but he had too much pride to let it go. He couldn't even remember why he was holding it in the first place, but to remove his fingers from Malfoy's would just draw more attention to it. Absurdly, he felt his cheeks heating up, and he scrabbled around for more conversation.

"It's a nice...sky. Er, evening. Thing." Harry cleared his throat, and blushed further. He suddenly wished that it was darker.

Malfoy snorted. "Yes, Potter. It's a nice night."

"So," said Harry, recovering. "How's your mother?"

"It's not like you care," said Malfoy, instantly bittering. Harry felt the wave of dejavu. He sighed, and leaned into Malfoy slightly.

"Why do you do this, Malfoy? Why do you hide behind your arguments and your snide remarks? I know that you can be a decent person. I've seen it." He recalled the few times he had seen Malfoy at his worst – or, depending how you looked at it, at his best – usually in tears or in another position of weakness. Did he have to be thoroughly upset to be nice? What he said next was completely on the spot and unplanned. "I know that I laughed when you wanted to be friends, but I think it could work, if you stopped being so defensive."

"Touching, Potter," Malfoy drawled. Harry bristled. Here he was, saying something this embarrassing, when he wasn't even sure if he believed it, and Malfoy _had_ to be sarcastic.

"See, you're doing it now! You're refusing to let me understand you. You hide yourself behind sarcasm and wit. How am I supposed to get to know you, if you won't let me!"

Malfoy opened his eyes, and looked at Harry. His face was straight, but even Harry, with his 'emotional range of a teaspoon', could read the curiosity in his eyes.

"What would you like to know?" Malfoy asked slowly.

"Why are you upset? Is your mother okay?" said Harry quickly, before Malfoy had time to change his mind.

"I'm.. she's fine. She'll be fine." Malfoy sounded more like he was trying to convince himself, than Harry.

"What's wrong with her?" asked Harry, but Malfoy just shrugged.

"I'd rather not talk about it, if it's all the same to you," he said.

"Oh, right. Well, er... have you heard from your father lately?" Harry wasn't sure if people in Azkaban were allowed to send letters.

"Hell, Potter. I'm giving you free reign to ask anything about me that you'd like, and all you can think to ask is after my parents? You're not taking advantage of the situation nearly as much as I expected too."

Harry looked confused. "Do you _want_ me to take advantage of you?"

Malfoy smiled, and shut his eyes again, and Harry ground his teeth as he wondered what Malfoy was thinking. The silence stretched, until Malfoy opened his eyes again.

"Isn't there anything you'd like to know, Potter? After all, it was _you_ complaining. Or was that all talk?"

"Fine. Um, what's your favorite color?"

Malfoy snorted. "Of _all_ the questions? And I thought it was obvious. Green, Potter."

"Right. Um. Favorite book?"

"As Meat Loves Salt," replied Malfoy, a dark smile stretching over his lips.

"Never heard of it," said Harry.

"Of course you wouldn't have. It's a Muggle book." Malfoy flickered his eyes up to Harry's face. The gray daring him to comment, daring him to laugh. Harry couldn't but marvel at the strangeness of it – Harry, raised by Muggles, had never read a Muggle fiction in his life. Yet, Malfoy, who despised Muggles, was a fan of a Muggle book, which was most likely about Muggles.

"Speechless, Potter? It suits you." Malfoy paused.

"What's it about?" Harry asked tentatively. The title made him think of a romance, but he couldn't picture Malfoy reading anything like that. Malfoy's smirk widened.

"I wouldn't want to spoil it for you. But you remind me of one of the characters," Malfoy's voice turned soft, and he looked away. "His name is Jacob. He has a dreadful temper."

There was something in Malfoy's eyes as he spoke that Harry wasn't sure he liked, but he felt a sudden desire to read the book, if only to find out exactly what Malfoy thought of him. But then, boldly, he decided that he didn't need to read a book to find out what Malfoy thought of him. After all, he could ask anything, right? Harry noticed that his palm was a little damp. Was it because of the extra heat of Malfoy's, or because he was nervous? Or was it Malfoy's palm that was sweaty? Was Malfoy nervous?

"Malfoy," said Harry slowly. "What do you think of me?"

For just a second, Malfoy's eyes widened and he opened his mouth – undoubtedly to say something rude – before closing it again and composing his face into the mask of an expression that Harry hated. He appeared to think for a while, propping himself up on one elbow, better to look at Harry. He trailed his eyes over Harry's bare chest, before resting them on his face. Absently, he licked his lips.

"I think," said Malfoy softly, "that you're arrogant and loud. You're short, and you're temper isn't very attractive either. Your hair is messy, and needs a cut. Your eyebrows are too thick, and your skin is too dark. And you have an unhealthy obsession with saving people. But," and here Malfoy paused for long enough for Harry to digest it, as though waiting for Harry to snap back. Or perhaps he was steeling himself? He certainly looked uncertain. But, of course, his 'but' had frozen Harry with curiosity. But what? Harry wanted to know.

"But what?" Harry whispered.

"You have the sexiest eyes that I've ever seen."

Harry didn't get a chance to reply before Malfoy's lips were pressed against his. At what point Malfoy had gotten to his knees, and Harry had taken his position on the ground, Harry couldn't remember, but somehow Malfoy was over him with his lips, soft but hungry, against his.

A second passed, in which Harry did nothing to respond. For just a second he was completely paralyzed in shock, before utter rage - or was it panic? - enveloped him. He lifted his free hand, balled into a fist, and sent it colliding with Malfoy's head. Malfoy's lips tore from his, and Harry felt a confusing regret, before ripping his hand free and jumping to his feet.

The two boys looked at each other, both with their mouths hanging open and eyes wide in surprise. All of Malfoy's composure was gone, and his look of shock and fear mirrored Harry's. Neither spoke, but both stared, breathing heavier than they should have been. Neither appeared to be able to move, until suddenly, an owl hooted, reminding them both of time and space. Stumbling, Harry turned and ran, leaving Malfoy alone, sprawled in the garden.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Trust Harry to kill the moment, eh? Not once, but three times. I didn't mean to have the first kiss happen in this chapter... it just sort of happened. You know how things happen in your own story that completely take you by surprise? It came as just as much a shock to me as it did to them. One minute, they're developing a half-assed friendship, and the next, BAM, Draco's ruining it by asking for more, and Harry's ruining _that _by stopping it.

Took me completely by surprise.

Also, a reminder that more reviews equals more updates. Even a one word review might give me the motivation to write another chapter!


	13. Tasting like Melon

_I just kissed Harry Potter._

Wide eyed and stunned, Draco watched without seeing as Potter disappeared, somewhat loudly, through the plants and back inside. The clatter of his stumbling feet in the corridor faded away.

_Fuck._

Draco rolled over and closed his eyes, pummeling his fist into the ground. The other hand sat at his side, trembling. It was still warm from Harry's touch. Tears began to sting at his eyes, and swearing, he brushed them away.

"I'm not even drunk," he mumbled. _Well, perhaps a little, _he reasoned. _But not so much that I should have done something as stupid as that._

The truth was, he fancied Potter. Only a little, but enough to make him feel thoroughly ashamed with himself. He wasn't sure when it had started – before their meeting at the lake, during, after, recently? All he knew was that he hadn't quite realized how much until moments ago, when Potter forced the question upon him and made him think about it.

He should have realized long before – after all, he had been watching Harry from the shadows in the garden for weeks now. It had all started when Draco had decided that he needed to find out more about Potter in order to help his mother, so had started secretly following him around. While he hadn't learnt anything that he could use against him, he had found Potter fascinating.

And now... he felt like an idiot. Obviously, Potter was straight – even Draco knew that he'd been dating the Weasel girl, and before that, the Asian. Maybe there had been others, but even so, certainly none of them had been male.

None of them had been people that he'd hated with a passion. None of them had been Slytherins. None of them had been Death Eaters.

Draco scolded himself. It wasn't as though he wanted a _relationship_ with Potter. No, it was his body that attracted him – his dark hair, so messy and wild, a look that Draco would never have been able to get away with, and his toned stomach, his tanned skin. Those beautiful eyes... But that was it, nothing more! Draco was defiant. He didn't care for Potter's idiotic remarks or his immaturity. He had no attraction to the Gryffindor in him.

He was sure of it. It was all physical. So he didn't care whether Potter liked him back or not.

He swore again. He did care. He cared a lot. He wanted Potter, and he wanted him to want him back. Be it physical or emotional, be it for the sake of his father, his mother or himself, he wanted him. A Gryfindor. It was humiliating, but he couldn't deny it. And it was all because of a stupid conversation in a flowerbed at midnight.

What was even more humiliating, however, was how Potter had just rejected him. He felt his cheeks burn and his eyes sting. Could he face him now, dignified and proud as he always was? Could he bear to look into Potter's eyes again, without drowning in embarrassment? And what would his mother say?

Draco moaned. He'd failed Narcissa. He'd failed her – and she was dying! She wasn't going to be able to see her husband ever again. She was going to die a lonely death. He'd lose her, just like he lost his father, and now he was losing the one other person that he had in his life – and only moments after realizing that he'd actually wanted him there!

Draco had had no idea that he'd been crying until a breeze brushed his face and he felt the cold tears against his skin, but he didn't stop. He curled up tighter into the patch of jasmine, where Potter had been, and for the first time in his life he hated the smell. He hated the jasmine for cloaking Potter's scent.

* * *

Harry had no idea how he had managed to end up in front of his bedroom – he hadn't been paying any attention to where his feet were taking him. His mind had been spinning, screaming, unwilling to think straight. He tore open the ornate door and slammed it shut behind him, falling back against it.

It was dark, but not so much that he couldn't see had he been looking – which he wasn't. His eyes were wide but unseeing, his lips parted as he heaved in lung fulls of air. A bead of sweat trailed down his face, tickling as it reached his chin. His heart thumped steadily in his chest.

What had just happened?

Malfoy had kissed him. But why? To make a fool of him? To embarrass him? Obviously to torture Harry in some way, Harry was sure. And then – and at this Harry's face flamed in shame – there was that small moment, that tiny second, when Harry had considered kissing him back.

What on earth had _possessed _him to even consider doing that? He couldn't explain it. He didn't _want_ to explain it. There was just no way that he liked Malfoy. They were enemies. The Malfoy's had practically kidnapped him, for Merlin's sake! And of course, there was no chance that Malfoy actually liked Harry. It was obviously just one of his stupid, malicious jokes.

Angry, Harry stood up and walked over to the window. There was no way that he was going to give Malfoy the pleasure of seeing him squirm. He wasn't going to get embarrassed over this. He wasn't going to retaliate at all. He'd get up tomorrow, and go to breakfast. If Malfoy was there, he'd act completely indifferent.

He smirked, satisfied. It was all a joke, and Harry was sure that he hadn't given Malfoy the pleasure in responding the way he'd anticipated. He nearly laughed. Malfoy must be feeling like a right idiot now, he thought.

He drew his eyes away from the moon and got into bed. The old witch on the wall was silent and asleep. Placing his glasses on the bedside table, Harry rolled over and closed his eyes.

Before falling asleep, he swallowed and licked his lips.

Strangely, they tasted a little like melon.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'd like to thank the reader who found me on Bebo in order to persuade me to continue with the story.

And I'd also like to thank all the people who have stuck with the story and reviewed! Just one review might give me the inspiration to write another chapter. Some days, when I'm fed up and bored and checking my emails, and I see a review in my inbox, it often gives me some newfound desire to work on the story. It's great - without you guys I'd never have the inspiration to write. So thank you so much!


	14. Fuck

**AN: **I know, I know. It's been a ridiculously long time since I last updated. It's just that I had no idea how to write this chapter. Everything went wrong for me when they kissed in chapter 12 and I wasn't sure how I was going to fix it. A huge thanks to all the reviewers who encouraged me to keep writing!

I should also probably mention that before writing this chapter I read over and edited the others. I've added a couple of new paragraphs in earlier chapters and changed a couple of events slightly, but nothing of that should effect the story.

* * *

When Harry woke the following morning, to the gentle song of the birds outside, at first he didn't remember the events of last night. He sat up groggily, ran his fingers through his hair, and reached out a disorientated hand for his glasses. It wasn't until he could see again and noticed the two crushed Jasmine petals on his pillow that it all came flooding back to him. He put a hand over his face to hide his momentary embarrassment, before remembering the decision he had made last night and getting out of bed.

It was a warm morning, but he felt strangely cold. He wriggled his toes, trying to get rid of the unnerving feeling. He had to decide how he was going to act today and prepare himself. He didn't want to act how Malfoy would be expecting him to, but nor did he want to make a fool of himself. The best thing to do would be to pretend as though it had never happened. If Malfoy had any pride he would probably do the same thing.

Satisfied, he got into a clean pair of jeans and buttoned up his shirt. He did up all the buttons, for extra measure.

Malfoy wasn't at the breakfast table, but this didn't surprise Harry – it was late, after all. Harry went to the kitchen, where a bubbly little house elf made him some toast, and leaned against the table as he nibbled at it. It tasted dry and flavorless in his mouth, and eventually he gave up and left the plate and the toast on the table.

Where was Malfoy, he wondered as he entered the hall. Now that he was prepared for him he was anxious to see him. He wanted to get their meeting over and done with so that they wouldn't have to spend however long avoiding each other, and he was also curious to see how Malfoy would react to a calm and level headed Harry. It wasn't like Harry to be so emotionally prepared. He smiled – it made him feel devious.

Malfoy wasn't in the courtyard, but he hadn't really expected him to be. He leaned against the apple tree and remembered more vividly what had happened. It was curious how shocked Malfoy had looked afterward, almost as though he hadn't even been intending to kiss Harry. Harry nibbled his lip. Maybe Malfoy wasn't playing with him. Maybe...

Did Malfoy fancy blokes?

After a quick pause, Harry laughed – that was impossible! Malfoy was a, well, a _Malfoy._ Malfoys needed to continue the family, to raise an heir, to uphold their 'family honor'. There's no way that Malfoy would choose men over women, and there's certainly no way his family would let him. And besides, Harry thought, even if he did, Harry was sure that he'd be on the very bottom of the list of 'potential snogs'. In fact, even if the list were ten thousand names long he'd not likely be on it at all. That was a slightly comforting thought, at least.

But he still desperately wanted to see Malfoy.

He had considered finding Malfoy's bedroom and looking for him there, but he didn't want to give Malfoy the wrong idea. Besides, he was meant to be acting indifferent, not as though he were actually searching for Malfoy's company. Malfoy wasn't likely to still be in bed anyway. Harry made a noise of annoyance. What was the point of building up the confidence to pull off a completely casual conversation after an embarrassing but childish prank if the other converser wasn't even going to show his face? Somehow, Harry felt cheated.

It was nearly lunch time before Harry returned to his bedroom (when had he started to consider the room as 'his'? He couldn't recall). For a while he had been bored, hungry and irritable. Malfoy's absence had annoyed him, until he had realized that Malfoy was probably with his mother. After that he'd felt increasingly guilty, and with his irritation his hunger seemed to vanish too. Now he was simply bored, having argued himself out of the guilt (if they were going to treat him like a puppet he wasn't going to worry about their health.)

Eventually, he found a piece of parchment, ink and a quill, and drafted a letter to Ron and Hermione. Even though he knew that he couldn't send it. He was beginning to miss them. He didn't need this drama, this boredom, this loneliness. And this confusion._ If Hermione were here,_ Harry thought, _she'd be able to tell me exactly what Malfoy was thinking and why he's acting like he is. She'd already have worked out why they're keeping me here, or failing that, a safe way to escape. And Ron would never let me sit around doing nothing, together we would be out of this mess already._

_Is Malfoy right, do I really rely on other people too much?_

It was a while before Harry thought to look for Malfoy in the library. His thoughts of Hermione had made him wonder whether any of the answers to his problems could be found in books (he had quickly shoved this thought aside – the idea of how many books he would have to find and read intimated him) and then he remembered Malfoy's passion about the libraries and his comment about Muggle books. When he stepped into 'the Wizarding World's largest fictional library', however, he was half hoping that Malfoy wasn't there.

Malfoy was curled up in a pile of green bean bags, looking surprisingly casual. His shirt hadn't been ironed, his hair was out of place and his belt didn't match his shoes – minor things that no one else would have noticed, but were blatantly obvious to Harry.

Malfoy didn't notice him at first, and now that Harry had found him he wasn't entirely sure what to say. _Calm, casual, _he thought. _I won't let him think he's gotten to me._

"Hi," he said at last. Malfoy flinched, and then slowly, warily looked around. Harry felt his heart pummel in his chest at the sight of Malfoy's shocked expression._ How dare he act so innocent,_ he thought, and then corrected himself. _Calm, casual, collected. _He took a deep breath, but Malfoy said nothing.

The silence was strained and awkward, and the longer it went on the longer Harry's blood boiled. Wasn't he going to say anything? To be fair, Harry's presence in the library wasn't so casual – he hadn't really thought it through. He _had_ considered grabbing a book, but that would have looked suspicious as Malfoy knew he rarely read. If he was thinking properly he would have come up with a good excuse to come looking for Malfoy – but he wasn't and he hadn't, and as his anger increased it seemed to squash all of the 'calm and collected' it required for him to think straight.

_I'll just ask him about last night. I'll be casual about it. _He took a deep breath. _Calm._

"What the_ fuck_ was last night about!?" he burst out angrily. "You're already planning to use me, holding me captive, keeping secrets, no doubt lying to me, and now you have to fuck with my mind as well? And now you won't even fucking talk to me! What's your problem? What do you want from me? I keep thinking you've changed, I keep thinking that the more I learn about you the less of a bastard you seem, but now I realize that I know less about you than I ever thought I did!

"Say something!"

Malfoy looked away. His cheeks were flushed, and Harry couldn't tell whether this was from anger or embarrassment. He still didn't say anything, and if Malfoy hadn't been completely defenseless (his wand lay on a table several feet away), Harry would have hit him. Hell, he probably would have hit him anyway if he hadn't been in such an awkward position for hitting.

"Fuck," Harry swore, and wondered momentarily if Wizards knew muggle cuss words.

"I don't know what to say," Malfoy said through gritted teeth. He cleared his throat and looked at Harry again. His voice was full of sneer when he added, "and what was _your_ problem, anyway, holding my hand like that? You got me to stay, like you wanted, you could have let go of me then!"

Harry faltered for a second. "I – I didn't want to draw attention to it! I didn't want you to... notice."

"You don't think I noticed that you were holding my hand? Fuck, Potter, girls hold each other's hands when they're upset. Boy's don't. It's your own fault, leading me on."

"That's ridiculous! No one in their right mind wold think that I'd had those kinds of intentions!"

"Look," Malfoy suddenly shouted. He was standing up now and he was blushing even pinker than before. "I didn't mean for it to happen, okay? I wasn't meant to do it. And I'm really fucking sorry I did because it was a lousy kiss anyway!"

Harry ground his nails into his fists. He hadn't even kissed him back... had he? For a second he wasn't so sure. "So, you're the kind of guy who just goes around kissing everyone who tries to comfort them, or are you-"

"Yeah, I'm gay," Malfoy said coldly. "You're right, I like men. Fuck off, Potter, I hope you're happy now." Malfoy walked past him and their shoulders brushed gently as Malfoy passed him in the doorway. Harry was stunned into silence. He couldn't speak, and said nothing as Malfoy's angry footsteps disappeared down the hall.

He'd been wrong. Malfoy hadn't been toying with him – he'd kissed him because he'd wanted to. And now Harry had made him admit to something he probably found painfully embarrassing, had made them both look like idiots and hadn't _even_ managed to stay calm.

Malfoy's book lay open on the floor where it had fallen off his lap. As Meat Loves Salt. Harry skimmed the blurb – Jacob was an insane, violent man who struggled to control his anger.

_Fuck it._


	15. The Curse of the Damned

Harry watched the sun set through the windows of the library. The Malfoy estate seemed to stretch endlessly, bathed in a warm, reddish light. The hedges that Harry vaguely remembered to be neatly clipped were beginning to lose their form and the rose bushes were starting to rebel, their thorny arms stretching over cobbled pathways. A large water feature reflected the sky in the distance, and Harry could see a small figure standing by the lakeside.

He watched Malfoy for a moment before turning away. He had returned As Meat Loves Salt to the shelf after only a couple of chapters. He had found himself sympathizing, and maybe even emphasizing, with the hero of the story, which had made him angry with himself. Jacob was a violent man, but he wanted to protect the people he loved.

A house elf was waiting for Harry outside his room the following morning. Harry was beginning to find it easier to distinguish one elf from another, and he recognized this one as Weedy, an elf who occasionally helped around the kitchen but usually stuck to the garden. He was surprisingly clean today, in a plain white, stainless pillowcase.

"Mr. Potter!" Weedy exclaimed. "You woke late this morning!"

"Er, good morning, Weedy," said Harry. "You haven't been waiting outside here for long, have you?"

"It's the duty of a house elf to wait for a Master for as long as the Master needs!"

"I'm not your master," Harry muttered, crouching down next to the elf and remembering how the outside gardens had looked the previous night. "Have you been gardening much recently?"

"Mrs Malfoy says you are a master of Malfoy Manor now and that you should be treated as such," said Weedy happily, before adding with a slight note of regret, "Weedy hasn't been in the garden lately, Sir. Mrs Malfoy is too ill and needs all the spare hands she can get."

"Ah," said Harry uncomfortably. "Er. How is she?"

"Not very well, Mr. Potter. Not very well at all." Weedy shook his head sadly, and then furrowed through his outfit for a slightly crunched up piece of parchment which he held out to Harry. Harry looked at it insquisitively.

"What's this?" he asked as he took it.

"A message for you, Sir!" said Weedy importantly. "I was asked to deliver it right away. But now I should probably head back upstairs." Harry nodded, wondering who the message was from. He barely noticed as Weedy disappeared, his tiny feet not making a sound on the tiled floors.

Opening the letter, Harry recognized the handwriting and green ink immediately – it was a summons from Narcissa for him to visit her in her room. He made a slight face. What could she possibly want with him? He was naturally suspicious – he hadn't seen her in weeks - perhaps she had been feigning ill, and this was all part of the Malfoy's plan.

However, knowing himself a fool, he made his way to the fireplace at the end of the hall. There were four fireplaces on every floor next to the staircases that served as elevators between floors. This was very convenient, because Harry had no desire to walk up five flights of stairs.

Harry was so used to traveling by floo now that the sensation barely bothered him at all. A house elf scurried past with a teapot and teacups and Harry followed her to the master bedroom, but didn't continue inside and let the door pull to behind her. He could hear tea being poured, shallow breathing and a whisper of words shared between Narcissa and the elf. Harry leaned forward towards the room, trying to hear, and jumped when the elf pulled the door wide and beckoned him inside.

"Mrs. Malfoy requests that you come in," she squeaked with a low bow.

Narcissa was lying in a huge bed surrounded by fluffy pillows and lacy drapes. Her golden hair was plastered to her forehead and beads of sweat rolled down her pink cheeks, and there was a distance to her eyes, a mistiness, that startled Harry.

"Harry?" Narcissa whispered. Her voice was barely audible and her breathing suddenly became quick and harsh. The female elf hurried forward with a large silver bowl and Narcissa choked, half vomiting and half spitting, tears streaming down her cheeks as the elf wiped her face. She made a noise that sounded vaguely like 'not now' before her eyes rolled back in her head and she screamed some indistinguishable words.

Harry made to jump forward, to find a way to help her, when a small but powerful hand wrapped around his wrist. He looked down to see Weedy, who he hadn't even noticed to be in the room, shaking his big head sadly.

"There's nothing you can do," Weedy said as Narcissa started to sob. "I think you should come back later."

"No," Narcissa cried suddenly, almost desperately. "I need to speak with him" She tried to sit up, but her arms fell beneath her weight. Weedy and the other elf between them propped her up, and Weedy offered her some tea but she was shaking too badly to hold it.

"What... what is this?" Harry asked, terrified.

"House elves, leave us," said Narcissa harshly, trying her best to keep up her superior appearance, but her voice still shook and the elves hesitated before hurrying away.

"Don't look so alarmed," she said, and smiled a humorless smile. Her breathing was beginning to regulate again. "This disease that I have doesn't even exist!" Harry let his confusion show, furrowing his brows. He wasn't sure if she noticed or not.

"Sit down." Harry took the seat next to her bed. "What I have, it's mentioned occasionally in legend – a disease that kills the mind, the body, the soul, the magic – but in the last three hundred years there hasn't been a single recorded case." Narcissa paused to wipe sweat off of her brow with a handkerchief in delicate fingers. "It's said to be a curse from above, and there was never a cure. The superstitious feared it too much to call it by it's name, and so the true name was lost, but some call it now The Curse of the Damned.

"I'm not only going mad and loosing my magic, but I'm dying, Harry. I have perhaps a couple of weeks left to live. And that's why I called you in now. It's about time I was honest with you. There's something I need to tell you before I lose my mind completely."

Was this weak, helpless woman really the powerful, beautiful, demanding Malfoy Harry had known just a month before? Harry wanted to reach out a hand and help her somehow. He wanted to tell her that he could save her. But if what she said was true, and there was no cure, he couldn't. His hands curled into fists in his lap.

"How can you just accept it like that?" he said angrily. "There has to be a way. There has to be someone who can help you!"

"Don't make this harder than it is," said Narcissa, and Harry thought he heard an edge of coldness to her voice, and it eased his anger a little. "I've accepted it, and Draco will too, eventually." Harry chocked on his reply as he realized that Narcissa's death wouldn't just effect the daily prophet headlines – if Narcissa died Malfoy wouldn't have a single family member left.

"Malfoy – I mean, Draco -" Harry cut himself off. What was he going to say?

"You're right, he'll be alone." Narcissa held Harry's gaze until Harry looked away. "He'll need someone."

"That's why you brought me here!" Harry exclaimed. "You knew this was happening, and you wanted me as company for Mal-Draco after-"

"You're quick," Narcissa interrupted sharply, "but wrong. Don't interrupt me, I can't talk for long." And looking her over again Harry agreed that she obviously needed a sleep and the tending of her house elves. She seemed to be trying her hardest to stay composed, but her hands were still shaking, her hair was still damp with sweat and her eyes seemed to have trouble focusing, fogging up more often than not. Harry pursed his lips and Narcissa continued.

"Before I say anything else I want to say this: You're free to leave the mansion, the grounds, and never return again or associate yourself with the Malfoys unless it's by your own desire. I hereby break all our ties, and you are no longer in my debt."

Harry was shocked. He was free, just like that?

"I may be mad simply for that," Narcissa continued, "but my plan hasn't worked, so forcing you to stay now would be pointless. However, before you leave, please, please hear me out." Narcissa waited for Harry to nod before continuing.

"When the Dark Lord fell the Malfoys could finally live as a family again. Lucius and Draco have never had a normal Father-son relationship, but before Draco's second year of Hogwarts Lucius wasn't afraid to compliment Draco, to offer guidance instead of order, and to express his pride, to a degree. But after the events regarding The Stone he had to be stricter and colder in order to prepare Draco for the Dark Lord's revival and reign. I think Draco hated him for it, but I know that Lucius loves him and was only trying to protect him. I'm sure of it.

"Draco needs his father. Without Lucius he has nothing to live for. He'll be alone. I forced you here because I wanted Draco to befriend you. I wanted him to convince you to appeal to the Ministry for Lucius' freedom. But you and Draco didn't get along, and I'm sorry for that. My plan failed. I appeal to you now, Harry, and beg you to save my family. Please, don't let my family die with me."

Save Lucius, one of the biggest and baddest of Voldemort's Death Eaters? The idea was absurd, but the fear and pain in Narcissa's eyes convincing. Conflicting replies twisted on Harry's tongue. Narcissa looked away to hide her tears – tears of fear for her family, fear for herself, shame for her illness... or perhaps they were tears for everything.

"That's – that's all," she wheezed suddenly, clutching a hand to her chest. And then the room erupted into chaos.

At Narcissa's scream six house elves rushed in. Harry was pulled away roughly by several pairs of hands, dragging him towards the door. Narcissa was bent double, her hands over her ears and her legs flailing beneath the duvets. "Get out of my head!" she wailed at unheard voices. "Kill me first! Let them go!" She screamed again and as Harry was shoved out the door he heard the crash of something fragile, perhaps the teapot, hitting the ground. The door was slammed in his face, but the wails of Narcissa echoed loudly down the halls.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Mr. Potter," said an elf who had followed him out. "She doesn't have long now. Please leave her in peace."

It wasn't until Harry stepped into the fireplace again that there was silence.

_What am I going to do? _He wondered_.  
_

* * *

**AN:** I don't know why I almost always end a chapter on dialog or thought. I just think that it's a more interesting place to stop. Does it annoy anyone?

This chapter was hard to write, and I'm not so sure I like it. But I really wanted to get the plot moving, so please bare with me! Harry and Draco _will _meet again in the next chapter :)

**AN2:** Reading over the previous chapters the other day I realized that Jasmine has started to appear so frequently in the story that my English teacher would tell me, were it a story we were studying, that it were an important symbol. So I decided to look up the properties of the plant, and you woulnd't believe it - Love is the magical property of Jasmine. What an awesome coincidence! I chose Jasmine because It's one of my favorite scents, and not because I thought it held any meaning relevant to the text.

Maybe I should delete this part of the Author's Note later so that new readers pick up on it and think it was intentional!


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